Week after week,
life drops the weak,
All of this strife makes us reek-
of depression, The Great Depression?
More of a depression of the Greats...
It started with Bowie, all these phonies,
mourn for something- someone they weren't around,
to witness or experience...

Mile after mile, bald tires and no gas,
Half grand car, expected to go fast?
Looking for help, but when asked all they say..

"Hot singles less than one mile from your location
                       Chat Now!!!"

I read your poem,              twice
It really got me thinking...
The structure of my thoughts has never been written down,

. . .

I would say I'm jealous but I know I can do better,
A rivalry in the making? probably not,
But a challenge for sure, as you are something rare I can learn from

. . .

We'll see...         I guess

One through Five
I sat in my seat,
the ground not yet in reach,
like a petal to the wind we flowed,
never caught on a branch or stuck in a drain--
what a simple life it was....

Six through Eight
One book report, a droplet,
so minor--yet that drop led to the fall,
a fall so great caused by one little drop,
and as one drop may fell a petal,
one drop will lead to rain...

Nine through Eleven
Gusts knock off husks
These flowers grow just to wilt,
Colors fade to guilt--pollen to silt...
While no one may see them bloom
Stalks grow so much they could fill a room...

TWELVE
The time of the season is upon us...
Nothing expected--its all about perspective,
Immense growth, deeply rooted throughout all,
so so tall but not ready to fall,
Its been a long wait but Iḿ ready.

Here say have someplace in Collegetown,
You are on with VW because yesterday you were beginning to fade.
You start down rain now after a sunny morning,
When you slow down the blinking gets worse,
That huge old green house on the corner of the shiny face of you,
You feel terror in your people on their way to Ha D es,
To go all day—in case they can’t stop,
So this is what failed...  You couldn’t avoid that crowd,
Chances are that any one of these people had quarreled with a friend,
The Impact was you... in Ithaca

"What is this?"
"What is what?"
"Why are doors up here?"
"That's fine just show me...."

"My friend has an apartment in New York City."
"Why doesn't he move?!"
"It's insane, the expenses."

"No I'm just so curious"
"No, there's nothing for you here"

"Kurt...."
"What?"
"Please...."
"Your voice is so annoying"

"It's his favorite word again."
"What have you got going on here...."
"This is a horrible one..."

This write, has me looking for more topics,
I feel the box, stuck in, inside wrong lines,
Wrong lines, right lines, why must I try to fit,
It is not fine, I am all out of time...

Words and words to make me feel so crazy,
I keep on the grind to get an idea,
Do I not get this or am I lazy?
Building this dumb poem, is this ikea?

Poems have some meter but this is top,
keys to the board, pen to this **** paper,
Trying to write just makes me want to stop,
but soon I will need an undertaker,

For if truly I must, prevail I will,
This dumb poem pattern has now been filled.