Net Junkie
Facebook quizzes help me get through the day
sometimes they take up most of the day and
tell me that my heart is purple so I am creative
or that I am Wolverine or that I am sexually
French or that I am like like Mexican food
which is true dude and sometimes they are
just totally wrong, and I sing a little song
in the comments section about that and how I
wish these people would learn to spell check
Jack or get off the pills or something and then
I take another one even though there is work
to be done and I wonder why I bother but
it is electronic crack and I keep doing it
and I drink and chat with women I
barely know and then I take another quiz
or maybe a whiz once in awhile, and then
I take another quiz and another one that asks
what sexual position I am and it tells me that
I am a cowgirl and that reminds me of
an old joke about riding her from behind
then whispering her sister's name in her
ear and trying to hold on while she tries
to kill you and that makes me chuckle
to myself and grin again for a minute and then
I go to living social and I pick five things I can
reach from where I am sitting and they are
a cup of coffee, an axe, a knife, my computer
and my cellphone and I pick five places I've lived
and they are California, Colorado, Florida, Nebraska,
and Washington and I comment that Nebraska really sucks
and then I go do another quiz and then I pick five
vacation spots and flirt with this chick in New York
and then I do another quiz and then I check my email
again because some students might be asking for
clarification or something and then I do a quiz
about what infectious disease I am and then
I find out that I am the Black Plague which is
apropos and then I comment that I am thinking
about moving to China and then I smoke another
cigarette and have another drink and think that
I really have to write that poem soon and then
I take another quiz, and maybe a whiz
In my backyard, in the morning, in the Spring.
In my backyard I sit
in a swivel chair and hear
the birds of spring
chirping and trilling
in the morning and look
at the crimson maple from Japan
that we planted last year
and think of other places
and other years
gone past or yet to come
in which I have heard or will hear
the birds in spring for no reason
in particular, but they always remind me
that life is fleeting
and flying by me with no great success
and my heart is dying of
love and cigarettes, and my children
growing up and up and soon
will go away, but the sun is shining
down into my yard on this spring day
and the grass is greening and
the flowers blooming
in beds and on the trees
and in the mornings
my soul yearns to be free
of all the burdens that age
has brought to me but I
have few regrets
though my life is pointless and
I'm burdened by more debts to
gods and men than I can shake my dick at
so I just tilt my hat back and
look at that red maple
and listen to the birds while
the morning sun beats down and
takes away the chill of the night before
and I light another cigarette
and write about the things I see
near and far from me
while I sit in my backyard
in the morning in the spring.
Lovely flower of my desire
shall I purge myself with fire
or ice which is also nice
for the quenching of ire
but I doth desire thou so
strongly that I can no less think of
you than I can drimk of
the sea and live long but
I hear the siren song you
call my way and I strut
back and forth and try
try to stop myself from crying out
in furius anger at the distance
not within us, but without
The seed of men
You see I have before me, upon the table now,
a darkening seed, more clamshaped than round.
Around its rim it has a running line of black,
and lighter colors highlight it, along a virtual crack
To some you see it would be trash
a thing to chuck, to burn to ash, or to throw away
but I hold it cause it holds me luck, and love potentially
I know not just what it is, not ash, nor oak or pine.
It ain't no beech, nor willow tree, this seed, this seed of mine.
I do not know just what it is, but tis a good example
tis polished to a high degree also, by the ample
cradling, in me pocket, hand, and pillow
this seed, this seed of mine, not oak, or ash, nor willow.
This seed I use it to describe, the nature of a thing—
of essays, and sealing wax, cannibals, and kings.
Because you see I tell them, not oft', but now'again
I really don'know just what it is, and that's what makes me grin
to myself and think, I do not know if my eye
is telling me the the truth today, or yet another lie
as it often has before, what ya think s'truth or lie
I ask, once we have kicked open that door.
I sometimes find I'm not suprisesd, but rather floored,
by the things that some believe will make them better men,
the same by the things they think iniquity and sin.
So I look down at the floor, rub my seed and grin,
and think, it's no suprise y'all, from smaller seeds come men.
© Blogger templates The Professional Template by Ourblogtemplates.com 2008
Back to TOP
0 comments:
Post a Comment