oh, they die for me.
oh, for me they die, for me
they die, for me. meh.

for the most part, see,
i am a creature of love:
crank it up then flush.

The HC Returns

when up on this branch

life goes from lorduhtheringss

to lorduhthefliess.

Sudden flakiness of feet and instead of thinking how disgusting the mood is winter's here! Right now at this particular moment I am happy if not exactly content because I am my own microcosm, fuck you Metaphysical poetry. The Haiku Cuckoo's now up on the anti-aatlamo strip of the staircase wall at uni and dear Middle English Literature, I do not see why, I do not see why at all, and since that is more than enough reason to not study, fuck you too.

Yours sincerely, girl who does not like to sweat.



I want hot water and rum and the silly deadly daze afterwards, I've been wanting it all day.

Upon us all a little shit must fall.

So newspaper print
and hazy constellations
are not all that fade.

Always I whistle
but you who are a city
will be belching oil.

Still I shall one day
let go and paint your forehead
so you know I live.

My beak it has chirped:
all crows and men are scapegoats
Quoth the haicuckoo.

-

The Haiku Cuckoo has struck. For edification, the HC speaks only in H. Display picture up soon.

:D