Friday, December 3, 2010

pragmatic, blue-collared green poem

//this is a space i've made onscreen to push apart the garish scenes that smart my eyes
(eye my smarts)

everything that is for free would fall upon you naturally
but ask the racehorse for just one quote oh how much sir to sew my oats

disregard in whose regard you'd rise in turn with this canard: it will find you broke and sour
like the sexed up horse per hour

....please inform the maitre'd
                  i'm coming back
                          for his               apostrophe//

1 comment:

  1. I'm tired
    Too tired to think
    Of any original poetry

    My mind is blocked
    My ears stuffed
    With socks

    Have mercy on me
    Poetry police
    Of my mind