speaking your muddled mind
you breathe through pain filled
throat ache smoke filled rooms
of unheated cement walls covered
in ancient plaster leaking none
less dangerous insulation drinking
fermented re-gifted tea leaves from
paper pixie sized but not branded
cups thinking these folks understand
your words when really they’re more
fascinated by your fashion statement
of plastic mold poured foot accessories
popular where you’re from but that’s
nowhere near here
Day: April 17, 2009
Do It Again.
poetryLeft my
briefcase
at home
last night
now I
just can’t
re mem
ber what
I was
trying
to fin
ish to
day so
I will
have to
start all
over.
Fuck.
conferences
poetryit might be fun;
it might be sophisticated;
it might just devolve
into a sophistication showdown
as one hundred would be intellectuals
attempt to justify their inflated egos,
without recognizing the impracticality
of most of their theories,
except in and so far as
they get their tenure.
Hookie
poetryI’m not sick,
and yet i’m home
as my class begins
in exactly 1 minute,
and while i sit,
distracting myself,
it still does not work
becasue in the back
of my mind all i can do
is think about the mountain
of papers, of work
sitting just to my left
beckoning to me
calling to me
convincing me to work,
despite my laziest misgivings.
the sieve and the sand 