merry poetry

Hey guys, I managed to sneak away another moment here at the Vaughan Family Compound, so here's a poem I wrote a few nights ago amidst a dirge of retarded satellite television marathons. Oh, and come back tomorrow for a Christmas treat.


the sharp
crook of the mountains
loped low
beside
your wandering
mouth

into
the awful
hell of
forever sleeping.

it is forbidden
to cast
off your skin in
pursuit
of old men shaking
buffalo skulls
with magic.

you will lose
your mind
in black crop circles
but you will become
immortal
rings of youthful clapping hands.