Deaded Up By Me

Today is spitting up Saturday blood and happy with its sunshine

poem/ poet/ poetry

will more
over
cast
be
gin?

militant
converse

I don’t know
age old

adage

high waters
capri

Save, save

what?

save what?

tell it to
the rhyming
section

get it right

don’t be late

with the rent
with the bills

today is 7.7.7

july 7, 2007

yeah, as I said, 777

number of the beast
yeast infection

drunken day
someone’s birthday somewhere
somehow

a cig. wrapper

your hair may soon
transform into a robot
then into a jet
or a GMC vehicle
(you never know)

all the cardboard
people walking by
on the late night sidewalk
baby seal clubbers

don’t ask
me to explain
myself

only that I’ll say
it’s business time!
time to break
away from certain
conversations

to the run on
sentence
to the
next spot
and
we return fire
with superior weapons
like marriage being
a bad idea!

do you realize
I won’t always
pick up the phone?

I’m punching all the red words down
the valley
and improving my aim

“I’m not capable of hate
so it seems
but I’m getting closer, closer & CLOSER!
close enough
to realize the pain caused…”

more and more of the same

from me?

I sent a
message

into dead air space

it’s dead air space with you

palm tree experience

soap suds and
forgotten credit cards

old crooners
like Sinatra
and eBay and MySpace spam
robot women
alien zombies
all got word of me
are crashing in
on the planet
to
check out my ego

check out this guy
and his ego!

most the people
out on the sidewalk
all look hardened
frowns on their faces
size up
the holes in the wall…
smirk
walk away
go the fuck away
this ATM machine really really works

rebuilt old
stairway

coffee runs out
refill available
a day begins
typing and writing
typewriter
ping pang

fuck up a poem

almond eyes
I say
a lot of things

laughter ensues
it always does

unless there’s a
Voltron movie –
then I’ll burn the theater
down

I say everything

I am everything
or at least looking
at everything
or trying
or just me
or just dying
or drying on a clothes line
hanging out to spy with my eye
drain and drip and dry

big sprawling poem of today
what is your time frame?

Mitch Yost needs to get back in the game

I shed the neck tie in every sense
I seen ’em come and go

all games of
chess are forfeit

mad man cleans mud
off his dog
who thinks he’s
going to
get a whipping old school
of a lifetime

what fly lands
on my leg expects
a death knell
as sweat
emerges from armpits
from the water well?

now I sex the page
with light blues
damage operating systems
with light blue pool cues

thought it wasn’t possible to
take a car and
run over a bird
but that last one in the flock
would not disperse
and well
he got got deaded up by me

I so often LOSE MY POINT OF REFERENCE as to how I’m supposed to behave or what I’m supposed to say.

In the end, it’s the END. There’s always an end. And everyone that goes to college dies.