This first poem was written early evening, a cherished treat well earned. Exhausted in the best possible way. A real pleasure to be around the Loop again.
Oh, You Write Eraser Poems? Name all their Songs.
Almost a Phlegm High - after
watching rain tease gestation
over four hours, scuttling from
various metropolitan outcroppings,
up crow nests & within buttle bots.
Giving birth ten thousand feet
above the city must be a turquoise
trip, but I can't cope with frigid
afterbirth, not when the Poetry
Foundation's shuttered and
my high's nowhere near Phlegm.
Wallet can't stomach another buttle
bot. I'm caught in a birthing,
lakewater on the bigbot home,
pregnantly pausing perchance
I appear persnickety. Posthaste
to the keyboard, limelit day
well begat, gardensnooping
'round where business is dealt.
A Phlegm high funk don't shine.
On a later broadcast, I clacked out this ditty below.
Supply and Demand During Trucemates
Whispers of a guttural wish
plague port cities craving fish.
Plagues with a P which chimes
with T equals Too much
Tool (band not utensil).
Monoliths too, Tuba's
longside proud bassoons
moonpie pools shielding
faeries parading each'n'every
time I oversleep a game of Go.
Nothing to see, folks. Just
some slowpoke show roasted
his eyes for saloon shine
last ides of June. L stop marooned
rough enough to slough Pooh.
I miss you.
No comments:
Post a Comment