Day: April 25, 2010

Arithmatically

poetry

I will cheat when we play board games
and I will eat the last piece of cake
even though we made it for your
birthday

I will park like a jackass just to
see you
roll your eyes,
and I will forget to pick up milk
/eggs
/bread
/soda
every time I come home. Ever.

But I’ll never ask for that lunch
you owe me, and I’ll
never charge gas for that ride
to Chicago and back.
I never remember the two bucks
of mine it cost for those
cigarettes of yours
but you’re god damn right
I’ll bitch when you smoke them

I’ve never been good with
mathematics, but I’ve always
had a decent eyeball for things,
and things seem to line right up
to me.

But hey,
feel free
to check my work.

my courage

poetry

damn it.
I think I left it
in my other pants…yep.

in the right front
pocket with my credit card
and just a little
bit of lint.

well, can’t go
back and get it
now. I guess
I’ll just make
the best of of it

hope I don’t get
tested. hope I’m
strong and good
on my own…you know,
capable.

I mean, it’s a big
busy world out there
and it swallows us all
up without even
thinking.

I wonder if anyone’ll
even notice. People
must forget theirs
all the time…

i think cow pies is a quite reasonable term for something so disgusting. i like the idea of a cow pie, although not at all in their present form, and meat pie has no particular good ring to at all. on second though maybe we should just call the whole thing crap and give up any intention of ever eating the stuff.

poetry

you waste your words as breath as though
you’ve an infinite supply waiting on your
every subconscious as though you could write
in your sleep (unless you have a cold of course
in which case you’d need vicks vapo rub or
something to aid the writing so you don’t get
clogged up) unintentionally coughing up
masterpieces but you’re full of it i tell you
you’re absolutely full of it

Going through old trinkets and nic-nacs and the like, you always stumble on interesting peices of history from someone’s past. Maybe not yours. Maybe exactly yours. Either way, maybe think twice before you throw it in a box and send it on down to the Goodwill.

poetry

There is something wrong
with this picture. It hangs
at a slant, the glass is
broken, with chips out of the
frame here and there, not
to mention the split across
the bottom from the
last time it slipped from its
hook and hit the floor
because the nail was never
set quite right;
the holes in the wall can
tell you all about that.

Oh, but the sun in the
clear blue sky, and the
old blue truck with the
topper on, those look
alright I guess.

And me and you out
front just smiling.
That part looks just fine.

Perhaps we’ll keep this
hanging after all.