Inspired by the fact that the lack of adequately stocked kitchen cupboards and a typo, a compilation poem of fairly shitty verse accidentally by my roommate and me. Enjoy. Laugh. Deride. Whatever.
A Pitcher Thought
We do not have a pitcher thought,
a tall, cool draught of hospitality
and ice cubes to offer on a front porch,
a long pour of shared success
with its sugary taste, satisfaction.
The pitcher is a self-sufficient plant,
a long tube and a cup held up by itself.
Very scientific.
Very exotic.
Very sharp.
It’ll hold the water for you,
pour you a little should it get too full.
Stand beneath its bower;
it will provide.
Tempt you to come closer, peer into the depths,
let it discover the taste of your soul.
A depth where there is no bottom,
only an end.
The pitcher is a carnivorous plant.
It’s a vessel for thoughts –
thoughts pourable,
and fluid;
magnetic poetry.
Quill Aquiver 