Little Ever Comes Poem by Lazarus Knix

Little ever comes of a sort of lucid dream
Where you transform into a slab of self aware ice-cream
Sitting idle on a sidewalk, sizzled by the sun-
Adjacent to a mini-mart of ants and other bugs.

Portly men shall trample thee, of this there is no doubt
And scrape your remnants off their shoes with tools they’d use to grout
A dog might urinate on you and make an awful mix
Of yellow liquid with a bit of choc-o-late chip mint.

In due time your form will reach that goody, mushy stage
Where insects lick your body up and carry you away,
Any bit that’s left untouched by other living things
Will seep within the sewer drains until awakening.