Mo' poetry.

I still don't really have time for drawing much, so here's more poetry for tomorrow's update instead. I'll just post poetry to make up for it, as I actually have time for that. I also have to write for a class, so there. Anyways, here's a poem I discovered in my notebook from last spring that I took a scalpel to (as opposed to a chainsaw or an axe), in order to bring it to its current form. It's not "finished" per se, but almost good enough. don'thearit is a possible title.

Music on the radio
I don’t know it
But I drum to it
Like how you
Don’t know the face
But you come to it
I come to see it
You don’t hear it
I don’t hear it
I have to feel it
Feel it like a trickle down your back that actually trickles,
Not that trickledown policy that pops pus like pimples,
No, this is an honest-to-God Death’s head in a broad sickle,
It slices my spine the way it comes, dying’s just a tickle
And then it’s just pictures in the way back and I smile.
The face on the other side of the counter says it’s been a while.