The clouds are above and the clouds are below
A-vore, my love, a-vore, my love
my vote is my voice, and I would vore
for a stone, token of enduring love
The clouds, like, completely are a-fore so like many ex-
voters I would, um, choose a-roving de-fore duration.
Want me to sign there on your range rove?
Um, want me tonight my succubus vore, at the
The Vore Buffalo Jump, as ye rove out
on a moonlit night, form of Turkey Man: people
in a lot of countries would actually
vore for us to occupy on them.
Then it all started
gobble gobble them alt trash,
to go bad. My brothers
in bathroom mirrors, transistors
and sisters and I were
rewired, turned-on dwarf kings
all looking forward to Christmas.
Roll in the gutter with Rove while Rome
burns, my love, power biting, belly punching
and navel love. How sweet's the evenen
dusk to rove. Love for the Monarch I feel.
Colby Somerville lives in Iowa City. His work has previously appeared in Super Arrow.