inhabit my room, low
and behold their chalklike whiteness placed in the mighty reverence of a Tschaikowsky-guarded tomb, though
there’s no
jaw
or
really any other morsel of the body, no
torso, no
legs, no
paws, and it’s
also missing part of its
head, but what’s left is
cherished, saved from
perishing by a nature-loving
man, a gentle mischief-maker, skull-taker and
relisher of life, who bestowed
this deathly gift upon the
White Wave of Strife.
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