Author: Roger Mugs

deep in my ego

poetry

its like when they say it
they dont want me to even
try
my fight
i can only put up a fight
and fight for so long
before i have to quit trying
dedicating time and time and more
time
knowing what they say
dreams and fights
are bound inseparably
wound up wrapped
deep in our egos

on my birthday

poetry

i want beer and yellow cake with
sprinkled frosting and then another
beer i want sunshine and wind
in my hair (or across my baldness)
i want donuts and beer and donuts
then more donuts and people
to tell me i’m special by giving
me beer and donuts and most of
all i don’t want people to leave
me notes on my facebook

round caked bliss

poetry

baked and glazed and fried
perhaps
stuffed and frosted
strawberry
blast
long and round and twisted
-even holes

four pounds per week
i can eat six in a row

afternoon lull

poetry

strings of thoughts and things
i stand and grab by bag by an arm
strap as it lacks a handle and i have
to bundle it in my hand to keep it
from scraping the ground as we walk
because i’m too tired to go on sitting and
we talk about philosophy, theology,
life, and trees and the things you used
to make people do because you thought
it best but have since learned that while
sometimes it was really quite beneficial
it turns out most of the time you were
beating your head against the wall
uselessly discovering the texture therein
through repeated brief bouts of contact
with your now bloody forehead

i’m glad we’re standing now
i was so tired just one moment ago

durn classmates

poetry

stumbling over words stuck on a single
letter reminiscing over second grade
when i learned to read aloud and not sound
so much a fool as my classmates something
i chose to hold over their heads apparently
to this day now disgusted at my inability
in a new tongue to complete a single sentence
without a pause to think what this word could
possibly be and how it might should fit into
said phrase knowing you’re laughing
as i would if you were reading this and
knowing those second graders would laugh
too at me but i have to stand with grad students
who are mature enough to hold in their laughter
but bad enough poker players to keep me
from seeing it all over their faces

for the hours i feel faint

poetry

and light of heart and head
sugar slowing slowing my heart
to near dead stop
as my thoughts so weightless
lift towards heaven
calling sour candy refined sugar
precious chocolate dear pixie sticks
doctor after doctor claiming
diagnosis after reason after diagnosis
failing to prove the
truth