No Comments
Posted 03 Aug 2010 in Uncategorized

I am well aware I am writing strange poems after a 3 hour bath.

I am well aware that I may die in obscurity under a porch somewhere near someone’s

Old farm house.

That’s where characters like me go in literature.  I’m the uncle that hasn’t a nest, but picks coals

to fuel the fire in the woods where the ravens come to pluck out his eyes because that’s what they really want

I am quoting the past

library of my youth

where Zeus was always a little too proud

of his quarterback physique

Where pigs, all torso

have long eyelashes and a fear of losing loved ones.

I’ve started barking back at the dog that howls piteously throughout the day, I’m practicing
“Shut the fuck up!” and it’s working.

Eventually we’ll fall in love and I will turn into a dog and save her from an avalanche in Appalachia

I will be buried under legends of snow

and it will be even better than the porch

Add Your Comment

You must be logged into post a comment.