drrry spells
~for the r in all of us~
a normative condition, a kitchen condiment, an un-relished
pickle relish, when there in no hot dogged doggedly poem hot perspiration in the fridge or anywhere to be found; nothing but a top sliced bun, ah, plain buns, when old stale dog ones is all ya got left for dinner, during one of them there dry spells that no blonde tanned unweathered weatherperson ever forecast correctly
normative? Oh yeah.
the tyranny of the white, white bread, the white, whittle ya down screen, couture-cold water from tap direct, neck bent, jugged to try and fail to wash down that lumpen ball of dog fur brain drain clog that’s backing up the paper words, in a stomach churning brine holding you back from reaching the top of the Mt. Everest,
rite Norman?
Norman? Oh yeah. Son of Norma and Normally.
It’s in the bibell, look it up!
he is my pooka, (nope, uh-uh, look it up) a six foot tall rabbit,
climbing up my brain stem, strategically strangling my words like
a flea killer collar round my neck, one that actually visually works,
my flea bit words fall to the floor, to live with the dust mites descendants of the ole south, drafts and rejection letters, all whose blessed memory may never die etc. etc.
that was the condition of my condition when I dropped in
(yup, look it up),
Norman sarcastically asking, how’s the weather up there,
any rain in that-northern-brain, down here it’s as dry as an southern old dog panting on a porch in July, panting out summer hot poems write out like it’s crazy going out of style, oh yeah,
you don’t speak dawg that well.
so I don’t know nothing about your dry spells, just climb into
the hottest hot tub, staying all the summer months if necessary,
reading old poems about busted hearts, old dogs, unrealized loves that can’t be forgot, promises kept that one never made,
battlefields of yore, sweatin’ out the toxins till r
sends along a new one,
for I’m a mentally patient person,
whose never seen a drrry spell so long, that was not worth
wading thru, waiting for, till something busted out and
another thunderstorm of a literary good one, errr come along
like I said, I’m a mental patient man, still crazy after all these years...
(yup, that too, you could look it up if ya made this far)