Saturday, March 20, 2010


You feel this,
You feel that—
Aw jeez,
You’re always feeling
Some stupid drama of regret
Regardless of anything real.

In truth you’re only stringing words together
To fill the time away from Jack and Jill;
That might make sense,
But it doesn’t really matter if you do.

Are you lonesome,
Are you blue,
Can you stir a bumpkin stick in Elvis soup
And boil it till it’s true?

Politics, dread politics, rave on—
Declare yourself for ABC,
Protest that pensive weakling XYZ—
It’s pretty much the same damn trip,
Whether you puff up on the left or right
Or shove it up your ass in fright,

And beauty, dear beauty,
There’s no chick that pleases or appeases you
Like it used to do,
No name or word that we applaud,
There’s no bird notable for taking flight right now,
No one to write the names down except for you and me.

What good will it do, though,
For you to carry those names around
Like a leaden weight
And me to carry you?

See how low your flag is flying,
Can you keep it from the dirt?
Is there anyone of any moral stature or high feather here
To keep fledglings in repair or from being hurt?


Current draft: 3/18/2010
Created on 2/15/2010 11:48 AM

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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)