Friday, May 25, 2012
riches to rags
i once wrote on the tops of trees,
i shouldn't have, it was dangerous.
swaying, swaying, swaying, dizzying.
they say you should only write on
what you know, so try to find
inspiration in the bottoms of
barrels. they say avoid comma
splices, and not
finishing,
a line they say
never misspell anything.
the rest is all relative.
they say "I have grey hair, and there-
fore I know more, and know what for!"
they say avoid repetition, well
they used to say that, but
everyone knows that every
ten years the new "they's"
come out to play-and then the rules change.
make sure you read up on this.
they say "wahoo-wahoo-yip-yip"
they say improve your vocabulary.
they say wait in single file,
they say "shush, be quiet!"
they say "who asked your opinion?"
they say "rags to riches."
they say " yield, this is a one way road!"
they say "never riches to rags,
impossible! impossible! unheard of!"
they never remember anything,
even though they were there.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
-
confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
it's not possible. I think the problem must be- too much love and hate.
No comments:
Post a Comment