Haiku #651

One fine sunny day truncated octahedron sat crying at home

The Man Who Couldn’t Write.

The man with gold lead in his pencil couldn’t write! He tried a gold paperweight on his desk but still the words would not come. A gold-tin he purchased containing gems and jewels and scattered them did all around his desk in the hope of inspiring him with beauty. Nothing came. A name, a game, insane.

I cried everynight

For about three years (well it seemed a long time) I cried every night as a child. And no-one came. I used to like the ‘adult’ music and books. Why? Because by the time I was ten I was convinced that life was a load of old shit and you better shut up and get

Crying Elephant Love