Tuesday, April 6, 2021

You Son of a Gunn, I'm In: Public Access Poem 04/06/2021

Clacked out this poem after a morning at work: my first shift more or less on my own behind the bar. On the L home I found a strange booklet detailing a feline worshiping cult that has a building on Fullerton group. In purple ink was written this poem; best as I could decipher it.  

Poem Found Written On the Back of a Secret Society Recruitment Pamphlet 

Rackett ship ignite, an Orwellian
cab capitan, swill and swerve sort
eternally typewriter equipped before
that was professionally possible. 

Desowing hoosegow and usurping
the chapels, windmill tilting until
you devour your tongue and topple
from your soapbox - stripes of thus

pretermodern creed I ilk to preserve. 
We don't ID, it interferes with ego birth. 
Picture a house cat in a flapper dress - it'll
last a thousand apocalypses, persist 

past any Patmos Vision. It won't 
eat all the blueberries, like April
tends to. Skin that cat and turn it into 
a sports coat, bookmark or flyleaf; 

perpetual uses for domestic 
pelts. So many styles in wearing
feline furs - the last pure grift:
swindling red paint from bored empaths. 

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Backyard Tercet 09/01/2021

Rotund sweetness of slyly spent day A million chirps bevy into preening billows  So much ripeness, I blossom at the seems