Counting Fingers and Shaving Whiskers

I'm counting my fingers and flicking the lights
in a vain and futile effort to control
a hazed morning posing as a lucid dream.
But the spinning lingers while smooth skin grows whiskers;
Fighting a beard that wants to grow
is never won
until you die.

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Re: Small, Dry Places

Mr McSaddle:

You'll have to go someplace bigger
and less dry
to see how hot you really get.
And if you really put yourself into it
and I mean
REALLY
put yourself into it
you can burn that place down too.

Best Regards Via Seance,

Robert Frost

The Punishing Netherworld

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Small, Dry Places

Some things burn too hot to be in small dry places.
The rooms burn down and all that is left
are the dropped and slacked jaws
of
the assimilated, associated, and confused
pacing about the rubble and orange-hot cinders.
coughing clouds of soot and smoke
as they openly wonder how they will build it again
exactly as it was before.

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Vestigial Organs

I'll tell you something
about careening
through the scenery
with fiends and creeps
out seeking to be mean
and
struggling to be street
living lean
and
thinking on your feet
until you're
thinking with a blade
deep in your spleen;
And suddenly you're less confused
because
you never miss
what
you never used.

www.TheTruthOrSomethingLikeIt.blogspot.com

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Rib Poem #2

At Saint Francis’ Youth Group
I learned that woman was birthed
from man's rib.
I guess in a sense then,
Eve
was both
Adam's
daughter and his lover;
Which isn't too strange as I consider the things
Cain and Abel had to do
to get a good piece of ass.

TheTruthOrSomethingLikeIt.blogspot.com

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Rib Poem #1

Baby back ribs
don't fare well against
roasted spare ribs.
If you cook them slow
the meat will fall
right off the bone.

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Coming Home To Me

You came home from work
and you pulled your hairpins out
and shook your long hair about
smelling of lilacs and biscotti
and it brought me to my knees.
You wear it well, Barista Marie.
But I still wish
you were
coming home to me.

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Temporary Solutions For Contemporary Pollutions

I’m denied real affection, because I haven’t earned it
and
it seems what I was after wasn’t all that great after all
yet
I know that I would have been way into it anyway;
though
the phlegm stuck at the back of my tongue is no less bitter
and
I wretch and heave no less when I see the mess that I’ve done.
So
now I decide I’m open to the idea of temporary solutions
to
combat ailments induced by contemporary pollutions
but
it appears as though I have not earned any of that either.

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