Sunday, November 6, 2011
how this document
sat in the computer
for many weeks
with nothing more then a mere title
upon this night
I decided to compose
that have nothing to do with the title
or it’s original intent
so here goes:
That her hair was flaxen mayonnaise
for the white noise
like moths to the lantern light
and locked up
inside the delirium of romance
quite a few concessions
many young boys made
before the altar of her piss stained underwear ...
(I don’t know. That seems a little shocking for shocking’s sake!)
Maybe this …
your memorabilia of sound
spins like the tilt a whirl
in a dust lot carnival
your big brown swollen eyes
are sick from crying
and I have invented many lies
for your cautious heart.
(Hum … that’s kinda of all right! But what the fuck has she decided?)
Upon hours of intense personal introspection
accompanied by prescription pills and 21st century values
she concurred life had no meaning
without a credit card and a quick cash call
consumer me into the next wing
sedate me with all the things that money can buy
for the dingy hallway of poverty
I linger in
makes my cunt dry
and turns my pubic hair into a million angry snakes!
(I don’t know if accordions could help this poem.
But, if I had one I would certainly start playing!)
I may never have been to Japan or Missouri
but I have been to this world up inside my skull that
no one else has journeyed to
most women don’t care much
for this line of thought
how do I know
exactly what lines
the thought process travels
well, I have watched it click inside
their marble cat eyes
like a homeless man’s shopping cart
the empty boulevard
at 2 a.m.
Alas! Manslaughter is our only recourse!
You can do time and get out
with enough years to enjoy
some leisurely hours around
the swimming pool of life.
(damn … this is going nowhere)
I have sensed some murmurs of dissatisfaction
emanating from the crinkled flesh of your brow
this leads me to believe
your first son was killed in a car wreck
perpetrated by an alcoholic uncle
that loses all control of the wheel
after 5 p.m.
and that your ex-husband
has more in common
with a pack of Marlboro Reds
then with you …
I could love you for an hour
but not a single second more.
(fucking terrible - dispense with the riddle and give em’ the …)
What did SHE DECIDE?!?!?!?!?!!?
Damn good question.