dear
james,
i would like you
if you ever said
what you mean.
instead, you make up things
to make me think i want to talk to you
and then you proceed
to be the most boring human being
on the face of the planet.
your fake
peppy
exclamations
are deceiving,
tiring
and flat
after about four
hundred
of them...
i love you about as much
as i love a toaster oven
or any other
inanimate object
james,
dear...
you are so
boring.

i am a product
of this
society
i pick-pocketed
my personality
from a ghastly array
of tv shows
and teenaged drama
if you would like a re-run
of last night's
late night
sitcom
i'm at your service

i am a product
of this
society
if you want some fashion advice
from me
because i dress
so well
log on to
pinterest
they'll tell you
exactly
what i would
because everything i wear
no matter how weird
or ugly
i wear because
they told me
to

i am a product
of this
society
i do not
think for me
i have an iphone
that has replaced
the normal functions
of my brain
it remembers everything
for me
i know everyone
we talk
all the time
i text
really fast
i'm so connected
i mean,
i'm plugged into
everything...

i am a product
of this society
my thighs
don't touch
and a lovely
mountain ridge
adorns
my back
a cavern
in my
belly
come explore
me
a beautiful
bony
product
of this
society

I AM A PRODUCT OF THIS SOCIETY
and you all should really stop blaming me
for being a social deviant
for being unwilling
to conform
to this new normal
sanity isn't
statistical
and this isn't
1984
meaning:
just because a billion people
do this ****
it doesn't make it
right
doesn't make it
make
sense
i will not hold onto your tail
and follow you
blindly,
society
because you don't know
where the ****
you're going
anyway
if we progress
one more step
we'll all be
dead

little red,
you are here
to make it better
for everyone.
that is your purpose.
you are to make things
better
for your family
for other people
to make things
just a little easier
and if you are good
and kind
and nice
and fake
with a smile
cast
in plaster
maybe someday
someone will make it better for you
in return.
this is a cheerful fact,
little red.
why aren't you
smiling?
hasn't the
chalky water
and paper
dried
yet?
hmm...we might have to
reapply

some people are just cursed
with bad noses.
they could have an alright face
maybe even a really good one
but some out of whack
funky nose
comes and botches the whole deal.
p.s.
90% percent of the people affected
are bitter
*******
but i guess i can't blame them.

i have managed to evolve just enough
that i am no longer bothered by you.
i have someone i can fake text
a badly designed little game
meant for six year olds
that i can play
or i can
scroll
scroll
scroll
and pretend that so many other two demensional people
want to get ahold of me
i can do all this
in the most superior manner
and never even look at you
because you are three dimensional
and you are too hard to figure out,
process
analyze
you are simply
too big
for my screen...
i must wait for another upgrade
before i can open you
you are too
real
i cannot sort you out
into little
megapixels....
you will
break
me

My mind flutters,
A dainty butterfly...
Disquiet even over a nectarine pie,
Oft times the color allures;
A serrated edge attracts,
The stamen invite;
A pollinic conversation...
Little resting respite!

My mind flutters,
A distracted butterfly...
Does she not know;
She shall starve...
Concentration deprived,
Unable to trace the scent of the elixir;
That shall hold her high!?

it took you
a grand total of four days
to sew up your patchwork heart
pack your tatty suitcase,
ricochet off her like a purposed misfire
and attempt to lodge yourself into me.
four days seems about right...
took you four days to go from ME to HER
in the first place
good thing i took that target
off my chest
you'll be missing
this time.

Just mahogany and horsehide glue,
machine heads and a ***** or two.
Plywood top, solid sides and back,
bone and fake ivory, ebony, and shellac.

Steel and bronze wire, to make her ring.
A well placed sound hole to let her sing.
But for love or money I played here every week,
for 30 years she has earned my keep.

Four star restaurants, or beer soaked bars,
or serenading a lover under summer night stars.
A joyous birthday, sad funeral of a friend,
she's always been there, on one I can depend.

Drunken'- Dancin' New Years Eve bashes,
barbequed sun baked poolside splashes.
St. Valentine's Day love songs, wine and roses,
or a smoky old blues club that never closes.

A nursing home sing along on St. Patty's day,
a hurricane party till we all got blown away.
Christmas carols by soft candlelight,
I've played this guitar most every night.

From Florida to Canada, Vegas to NYC,
from Frank Sinatra, to Conway Twitty.
Zeppelin to Bach, JT to Pink Floyd,
anything to keep me from being employed.

One night in Nashville Greg Allman played on her,
And asked me to join him, oh what an honor.
We make people happy, we bring them together,
when I play on her I am as light as a feather.

Some fell in love, and got married from our tunes,
some nights we're alone on sugar beach dunes.
She's filled up my tip jar, and filled up my heart.
Because of this guitar my life got its start.

I've sat up with her all night, when she was sick,
changed strings a million times, broken many a pick.
Caressed her, strummed her, as she dashed my fears,
cussed her and ****** her, as she tasted my tears.

With her I wooed my lover, until she married me.
She has been my addiction, and she has set me free.
They applaud for me, but she's really the star.
I know it's just wood and wire, but she's my guitar.
###====(==O==== )###====(==O==== ) ###====(==O==== )

*For my Takamine "Lawsuit" I bought in Nashville in 1982.

A sadness in my heart tonight
must be told, then dim that light.
To never see its face again,
and feel the pain that eats within.

A tragedy befell, you see,
and stormy nights still torture me.
She fell and died while in my keep,
and now it haunts my every sleep.

Her face so blank and eyes opaque,
my heart fell hard, and then to ache.
No turning back what time hath wrought,
my constant conscience battles fought.

A fear of storms was Mollie's fate,
the night was dark, the hour late.
As thunder rumbled in her chest,
and her heart pounded in her breast.

To run and hide, but never from
the storm that was about to come.
She climbed atop a place to see,
what made this horror, what could it be.

But leashes length, a noose had made.
Fell to her death, no more afraid.
I found her hanging from the chair,
part of my soul still hanging there.

For simple errors can take a life,
trip up the stairs, slip of the knife.
I put the wrong leash on that night,
it strangled her, I took her life.


*Forgive me my fellow poets for this unintentionally dark poem. The tragedy happened a year ago and I am still trying to find some closure. Mollie was a little mixed dog that I was fostering for a local shelter. She was kind and playful, but deathly afraid of storms