Thursday, April 05, 2007

Sofa poem

I am sliding my couch and my couch is sliding and my couch is sliding down a steep concrete hill and I am on my couch sliding down a tall concrete hill and the concrete hill is very steep and long and there's no bottom to the concrete hill and the couch is sliding and there are people climbing and sliding on the concrete hill and there are many concrete hills and everywhere is concrete and hill and sliding couches with sports-cars and light-poles and small children in white dresses and white jumpsuits and with little black eyes and little studious frowns


amber said...

No. You are dancing with your sofa. And your sofa is a better dancer than you. The sofa can move its hips like Ricky Martin, and all the girls watch the sofa's hips and think how lucky you are because they want to dance with the sofa who has hips like Ricky Martin, but softer of course. The girls wear white dresses and have tearful eyes and pouty lips.

MadisonGlass said...

Oh my god. I believe the worst book every written included a couch sliding down the street/hill. It might have even been the ending.

But your poem is good. Different tone. Entirely different context.