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Dec 2014
(for the love of Yocum...who may shoot me yet, someday...)



most like 'em
simple, short,
bite size sweets,
easy to please,
a mouthful of amusement,
even if taxing,
tax me only briefly

a small remarque,
a tiny tingling digestif,
easily consumable,
easily forgot,
a couple of lines,
one ooh, one aah,
minimum is the maximum

never been that way,
**** hard to write
what ya ain't,
so keep on scribbling
a pack of stray dog thoughts,
long, loud, and sometimes
subtly & dangerously straightforward

~~~~~~~

(feel free to stop here)

~~~~~~~~

easy are the chocolates of
loves disputations
pained morsels of remorse,
lovely to be found,
even lovelier when  lost

cream fillings of twinges of regrets,
violence wrecks the heart,
what might have been, or once was,
subjects that guarantee the
affection of the great unaffected

writ my fair share,
stage three, t'is methinks,
of the ten step process
getting more n' more
writing-addicted,

don't begrudge
the overly simplistic,
still I am, hard aside,
rough adjudging,
tiresome trite are the
dust mites of poetry

as for my own mixture of
mostly mutt and purebred
stray dog thoughts,
ones that chase
solitary strangers down
late night streets,
see you hiding from the lamplight
in the in-between shadows,
when we tender invites to
all loonies & loneliest,
join up!
with this ragtag pack of
estranged poetry dogs

maybe they don't tickle your fancy,
our words, abstruse and direct,
dictionary lookup dignified,
observations of a man
looking outward,
after looking caustically inward,
every thirty seconds

the tint of his glass enclosure,
modulating the tenor and timbre,
of his singing voice,
the changing light complecting
his visage, his visions,
his hell-howling versions of
packets of stray dog thoughts


the individual words,
constituent members of
roaming, stray dog thoughts,
sometime silent,
usually growling,
once in awhile,
roughhouse barking

but what I got is
what I get,
what I give,
scraps to eat,
raps of notional emotional
stray dog thoughts

so if ya hear those footfalls,
words that just can't be refused,
run for places where the crazies
can't get in, the packets locked out,
unlessing you wanting
to howl along side,
an appreciative audience
who can't get enough of,
consuming whole candy boxes,
in one sitting of
words that keep coming,
I will howl mine
own stray dog thoughts**

you can always shoot that **** howling dog
you like 'em short and sweet
someday when I run out of notions and emotions,
and a love for words,
I will write fewer...

I will not bastardize myself on the altar of popularity, fk that *****...
Nat Lipstadt
Written by
Nat Lipstadt  M/nyc
(M/nyc)   
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