Monday, February 27

(found poem)

i wish i had money and a car and drove around till morning and come back and still not sleep, and sleep wouldn't be a need but a past time nonly when desired

Sunday, February 26

Infidel – a haiku
married twenty years;
fifteen other women knew
what only she should.

Saturday, February 25

In the Pits

I touched my armpit
and said “What a strange place for there to be hair.
And yet, there it is.
Is that why you’re taking apart my Chevy?”

“Shut up” the customs agent said.

Random poet's lament

Paris Hilton,
you’ve changed, baby.

Update!

So, I had another computer crash. I’m now working on a glorious P3 with French software. If you’d like to donate to my “Buy a poet a laptop” fund, just let me know.
School work is piling up, productivity is going down.
Stress is up, blog posts are down.
Wish me luck.

Sunday, February 5, 2006

it's a nursery rhyme. it's called:


sweet dreams, Sarah Goodnight

locked out of your rocketship
you’ll finally make it home.

float back from your pocket trip
with tearsongs on the phone.

distance gives a happycone
and makes them wash away.

eightball rubric’s wishingstone,
see? everything’s okay

Saturday, February 3, 2006

So, January started off pretty good on the daily posting scale with like, what, 12 consecutive posts? Then my hard drive crashed. As soon as I got set up on another computer, that hard drive crashed. Oi. So I finally bit the bullet and bought a brand new one. Ugh. At least January ended up being better than December. But I'm back now. We'll see how February goes. Here's a new one, in progress:

Second Thoughts

I guess it’s the little things that signal
that it never could have worked:
I like crunchy peanut butter,
and she likes bulimia.
I like Swiss cheese,
and she likes breaking lamps.
I like getting up early,
and she hears voices.

I guess I buy all that,
although I thought we’d work well:
She was interested in me,
and I love talking about myself.
She loved drinking too much wine
and I love scoring.
She kept seashells on her headboard
and I’m not afraid of drowning.
She loved mythology
and I love being left alone.
She likes staying in,
and I’m unhealthily jealous.
She had a webcam,
and I like having low-res titties on my desktop.

Random poet's insult

If I had a Snickers for every phrase I coined,
I'd be your mom.

Wednesday, February 1

This poem is a villanelle composed of haikus. Ain't I clever?

The Suck

Drink the bitter stuff.
Down it till you’re feeling cool,
Curl up with the suck

Rifle through the cup
Damn the dead bad drops of blues;
Drink the bitter stuff

Losing her, sho’nuff;
Your baby’s bending the truth.
Curl up with the suck

Lock the gear in stuck.
You’re gonna crash, prob’ly soon;
Drink the bitter stuff

Luck tank’s leaking luck,
Let it leak, it’s good for you.
Curl up with the suck.

Hit a patch of rough?
Only one thing gets you through:
Drink the bitter stuff,
Curl up with the suck.