Today I decided to play with the poem “Bereft” by Robert Frost. This is definitely not what anyone was looking for, but I stand by it
Storms a’brewin.
Roaring like a cat plum out of fancy feast.
Always with the fancy feast.
And here I am, just standing dumb
Lookin’
Just lookin’.
Durn door open. Ocean tellin’ me things from the doorway. Tellin’ me: yer a lo-down three toothed vermint, if I ever met one.
Why, yer durn porch is covered in ol’ termite bites.
Cavin’ in at one end. Here I come, up from the lower land to greet you, and I see this hump o’shit where you rule all you don’t survey.
The trees, they ernt too happy, neither.
Sumabitch makin’ woods look bad.
Hell, I can’t real’ help the conditions of the place. Hell, I’m just one man who inherits the soil from another man.
Hell, God might be laughin at me right now. Hell, this wind might be his rage and discontent.
I know that’s how I feel ‘bout the whole durn matter myself.
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