Local Asshole Now Local Asshole With Blog: The Twisted Brain Wrong of a One-Off Man-Mental
Sunday, February 07, 2010
The Weasel
This time I have you I tell myself pouncing on the tip of your white weasel’s tail in the snow who am left with a mouthful of wiry black hairs and the line of your pawprints in that white carpet telling me where to go.
That looks like a stoat. Hard to tell the size, admittedly, so it may just about be one of those Scandinavian or North American weasels. I can't speak for them.
They're black they're brown they're up they're down they're in they're out they're all about they're far they're near they're gone they're here they're quick and slick and insincere beware beware of the weasels
That looks like a stoat. Hard to tell the size, admittedly, so it may just about be one of those Scandinavian or North American weasels. I can't speak for them.
ReplyDelete'Over the rim of the thrush's nest / The weasel's face, bright as the evening star, / Brings night.'
ReplyDeleteIt is stoatally not and you are weaselly deceived.
ReplyDeleteI did a Ukrainian translation of the poem:
ReplyDeletehttp://levhrytsyuk.blogspot.com/2010/02/blog-post_09.html
Best,
Lev Hrytsyuk
Spasibo, moy ukraintsi drug.
ReplyDeleteThere's bastardized cyrillics for you.
Seriously though, many thanks.
They're black they're brown
ReplyDeletethey're up they're down
they're in they're out
they're all about
they're far they're near
they're gone they're here
they're quick and slick and insincere
beware beware of the weasels