Don’t think of it as half empty,
Think of the glass at half full.
If it was full to begin with,
And if there’s less now then obviously—it’s half empty.
Plus you need to factor in condensation,
And not to mention there’s a fracture at the bottom.
And you’re feeling down
Down
And out.
And some days
I just feel like poop spelled backwards.
poop
beer, pipe, poop, lard
poetryas the rings rise and hold steady
slowly thickening the medium that is the air
making it harder and harder to see our friends
sitting across the table as we hold a beer
and thumb over pipe after ring blown
through ring talking beer and then poop bad
idea after bad idea returning to already argued
points again and then once more simply to remind
us that none of us is anywhere near to the perfect
we’re glad we never dreamed of and then
it’s off for a midnight run to the arches of gold
where they say if satisfaction wasn’t found in the
beer than maybe it can be found in a quarter pound of
lard
warm but lockless.
poetrysixty-degree days
in december are as
disquieting as
pooping in a
stall without a lock.
my dog farted and it smelled like poop
poetryso i–sniffing
incessantly–scanned
this house–sure i’d
find it somewhere
waiting to be discovered
like some ironic twist
at the end of a rainbow
when it struck me: how
many of us live
our lives like this?
the roommate’s poop
poetrywas not flushed by the roommate
and when tried by another, became clogged.
so the question that emerges is
should she settle this matter on her own
should she leave it to later be discovered by the latter
or should she simply say,
“excuse me, you forgot to flush your poop
and now it’s stuck.”
(i would go with number two.)
the sieve and the sand 