I think size matters.
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I woke to this razzamataz,
had her beautiful flatand a picky old bratwho had, daily, the male order blaaahs.He was known in the street as a nerd,who had somehow been given this birdshe was pretty and smartand a work of great artshe was shaken and never quite stirred.Like a real delicious Martiniwith a hubby but lacking bambinishe then thought it…
It’s Saturday today, all day.
I ask myself, what do you sayto tackling this, just me and you?I am a hoarder from way backand keep the dumbest things,but for the brain to truly trackand plan, so that it singsit has to have, like toast that’s buttered,the proper tenants, useful ones.This will not work if it is clutteredwith ancient stuffand pain…
With only a bouquet
in the Sicilian vase,he wept alone,next to his bottle,unopened, yet.A chill as company.There was no memoryof having cried,as women say,your eyes out,ever.‘Til now.The doctor had,rushed and dishevelled,clipboard in hand,thrown accusationsand poison arrowsat his chest.To let him know,third-party like,what had beenso unfortunatelydiagnosed today.He staggered outat last,the corridor was misty.Fickle spiritssaw him home,and left him there,to his…
The hall was crowded,
blue collar whiffand music drifting infrom the last vesselto arrive. Deserted docksin silence, rough handshad left at last.To hell with wages,we listen to our union,assembling here,still peacefully anticipatingelusive answersfrom those who leadby education and example.And after many daysof cargo sitting, stranded,and idle men misled,a sudden silence could be heard.A voice of hoarse falsetto,articulate, in plaintiff…
A tree dropped off a hazelnut
Felt queasy in his hazelgutfrom the effects of one small cut.Came down the path a butternutsaid hazelnut my darling whathas happened that you’re on your butthere let me help you to my hutwhere you can meet Sir Coconutbut when you enter kindly shutyour mouth that always utters smutyou arachidic scuttlebutt.They entered into the small hutwhere…
Today, my friends, I’m telling you
The governments are making listsof middle-Eastern terrorists.There’s talk about a policythat doesn’t make much sense to me.It’s shoot to kill the ones who looklike Mister (perhaps Mrs.) Crook.There is a war on foreign soil,which may relate a bit to oil,but it appears that people thinkour freedom hovers on the brinkof irreversible destruction.This thought derives from…