Silas Thorne's Journal

I will get up long before I go to bed
crack walnuts on a face
like thin felt over a concrete floor,
chase lean deer on mountainsides
and pound the whole world flat beneath my feet.
With each footfall, my buttocks in their hardness
will crush molecules of air with an audible pop.
I will fart plentifully, with the fragrance of pot pourri
and all those who look upon me will tremble
and shiver like small birds
trapped in a walk-in freezer.

© Silas Thorne