The Death of Rats Posted July 4, 2004 Report Posted July 4, 2004 I add straitjackets to sad rats while they do my income tax The vats of spats are ersatz in their shine That briny twine, it once was mine Inside your spine, there isn't time for the fine to make their rhyme so divine that pain sublime as we all deal with cats time to time From time to time...
Mira Posted July 4, 2004 Report Posted July 4, 2004 Maybe I'm missing something, but this poem seems a little insane. I like it.
Katzaniel Posted July 4, 2004 Report Posted July 4, 2004 Even given the level of insanity, I do wonder whether the second last line isn't accidentally missing the word "from". It could be on purpose, and no one would ever know for sure. Interesting. And cool.
The Death of Rats Posted July 6, 2004 Author Report Posted July 6, 2004 A tiny form in a hooded black robe wanders in through the wall, toe bones clacking and sctyhe thumping rhythmically on the stone floor as it walked. Stooping in front of the two nonplussed poets, it turns empty, weirdly glowing eye sockets and a toothy muzzle up to gaze meaningfully at Mira and Katzaniel. It grinned at them. But then again, the Grim Squeaker *always grinned.
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