A lazy day, taking it easy before the new job starts. I bit into something bitter and spit it back in this first poem.
What Gripes I Have I Put In My Poems
god put this blizzard in you.
Nothing unique about it.
Check under the galoshes
never bought, constellations only
correlate under learn'd astronomers.
Don't mistake earnestness
for authenticity, taboos denote
idols. There is nothing
sacred about your pain
save the compassion
safe-deposited where you can
donate it to
dogs hobbling on TV.
Your tributes mean #@&% much
to anyone as this poem does.
So pass it along -
the snow cums weather we
shit or not.
I don't truly know if
I've ever disliked anyone.
A little later on I wrote this little three liner, another backyard poem.
Smoking outside warm
enough to call again. Pesky
reminder you don't anymore.
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