Jul 2017
No tengo - Spanish for don't have*
<•>
woke up bushy and mushy,
"Siri, get my muse on the line,"
wise *** asked which one,
guess she was feeling feisty
as well as girl-gorgeous,
poem perfect on a July 2 Sunday
fake growled and she said
"alright, alright, just a sec..."
"0 Muse, it's me,
it's not even seven am,
got the urge, ready to cruise,
pick me one of my Natman outfit de-skyizes and
let us write many jive poems
let us write till the sunsets texts us
sire, dude,
I'm
just above the horizon,
poems no mas,
unless you will write by
the fire of the maister's grill"
My Muse,
strangely morose, denies replies,
"sorry sire, (she's nice English)
all of the available words
have been purchased until
July twenty tooth"
What, I screamed, threatened and challenged,
must be one of those rude dude tech billionaires,
who think limitless is just another word for more please!
Siri
"get me god on the line so I can maccabee end,
this poetic oppression"
He/She an old friend,
an A list star of many prior writs,
would surely insist that a
special rabbinical dispensation,
could be found to squeeze nattyman me,
a few thousand or so
God (looking straight at him, makes him crazy)
"so many things I do not have such as,
your prolificacy,
making me jealous that all your poets
rain down in greater quantities
than I can manufacture clear crystallinely
but now is the hour of your power,
the minute of my need,
give me some words please"
the disembodied voice's disemboweled me
"sorry son,
gotta run,
if it is words you want,
suggest get an in with
wordvango and betterdays,
me, no tengo!
their profligacy,
poems by the hour
have drained the list,
and had I not put a stop to it,
they would have taken them all
till Christmas!"
*So made me some future reservations,
selling them likes suns, 3 for a dollar,
which is even cheaper, (Eliot!)
no ifs and ands about (it)
come see the maister natser,
my words are made of obsidian
and specialty Valyrian steel,
and nobody eats my words
they just-wink at them,
then lift some, a nice steal
cause I never read a poem
undeserving
<•>
woke up bushy and mushy,
"Siri, get my muse on the line,"
wise *** asked which one,
guess she was feeling feisty
as well as girl-gorgeous,
poem perfect on a July 2 Sunday
fake growled and she said
"alright, alright, just a sec..."
"0 Muse, it's me,
it's not even seven am,
got the urge, ready to cruise,
pick me one of my Natman outfit de-skyizes and
let us write many jive poems
let us write till the sunsets texts us
sire, dude,
I'm
just above the horizon,
poems no mas,
unless you will write by
the fire of the maister's grill"
My Muse,
strangely morose, denies replies,
"sorry sire, (she's nice English)
all of the available words
have been purchased until
July twenty tooth"
What, I screamed, threatened and challenged,
must be one of those rude dude tech billionaires,
who think limitless is just another word for more please!
Siri
"get me god on the line so I can maccabee end,
this poetic oppression"
He/She an old friend,
an A list star of many prior writs,
would surely insist that a
special rabbinical dispensation,
could be found to squeeze nattyman me,
a few thousand or so
God (looking straight at him, makes him crazy)
"so many things I do not have such as,
your prolificacy,
making me jealous that all your poets
rain down in greater quantities
than I can manufacture clear crystallinely
but now is the hour of your power,
the minute of my need,
give me some words please"
the disembodied voice's disemboweled me
"sorry son,
gotta run,
if it is words you want,
suggest get an in with
wordvango and betterdays,
me, no tengo!
their profligacy,
poems by the hour
have drained the list,
and had I not put a stop to it,
they would have taken them all
till Christmas!"
*So made me some future reservations,
selling them likes suns, 3 for a dollar,
which is even cheaper, (Eliot!)
no ifs and ands about (it)
come see the maister natser,
my words are made of obsidian
and specialty Valyrian steel,
and nobody eats my words
they just-wink at them,
then lift some, a nice steal
cause I never read a poem
undeserving
