Live blog: Romney and Stanton vie for Iowa win.
Dead heat in the dead of winter
What do the Iowa results really mean?
That Romney's less of a robot than he seems?

Oh, by the way: replacing a bulb, can save you 50 dollars or more!
But it'll cost you ten times as much, at your hardware store.
Starbuck's hikes prices despite the lull,
People stupidly betting on Powerball,
Selma Hayek's trending, y'all!
(We don't know why).

But what's all that compared to shootings?
Soldiers flying and not being sniffed,
Suspects nabbed in Utah killings,
And GOP runners had another tiff.

Personally, I'm more fascinated,
In the Aussie hybrid sharks!
This might mean global warming's overrated,
Or that animals are way smart.

Mideast peace-talks stalled, I read.
Have I not read this before?
Oh, yeah, back in 1972.
When psychos killed athletic Jews,
Who might win
And Olympic village was off view,
While the Israelis dragged people in.

That year, Nixon was re-elected
And we thought we'd never see worse,
Yet now the nation is infected
With a yellow-haired, inhuman curse.
Blog goes to sleep...

Begun long ago and finished in 2018

(I hope a modern poem.  But I don't know.  First attempt.)

There is a beautiful breeze by the sea,
but the wind will not connect you to the
Wi-Fi you so desperately seek,  holding
the latest phone up in the air,  as though
the sun will connect you to that guy you lust.

Nah. Just salt,  sea, and seasonal beauty...
A canape load of sea crustaceans too, waltzing around your stilllettos, like
lost PTSD veterans. Walking must be difficult.

The grains of sand pilfer your balance,
and you tumble to the wet **** of the
ocean,  which has been piling up for days
waiting for such a person to show up.

The calm of the ocean. The chuckling rage
of the mighty gulls. The clattering of those
**** ***** again. One has just clipped onto
your long heel.

Frustration. Anxiety. Regret. Maybe you should
not drink that home made crap your brother
made. Especially not on the beach... At night.
Alone. And where the hell were your friends?

The wind is whistling now. Spelling a
rhythm in the air which your deaf ears
will never hear. A music which has been
around long before you were a *****
floating around in misery, and will be here
long after your grave has disappeared
into the ages.

A song of the sea.

But all you hear are clattering noises,
disrupting your lesser IQ thoughts,
and that main concern that hopefully
after last night,  you are not pregnant.

The cold usurped the trees
I watch their children fall
filling up the wet street
winter forestalled with a cask
                                             of alcohol

watch as the tip of his tongue
touches the roof of his mouth
whips down and spouts out
the reasons why we have
                                         this drought

but its raining now
maybe something will grow
or a sea of spit
with rolling waves
                              will overflow

I told her I would try
to rekindle with him
stuck in cabin's twilight
sewing sinews of this
                         phantom limb

how does one talk
before they think
does he hear the words
that dribble into his
                               warm drink

then ascends as steam
back into that cavernous nose
to permeate his brain
and slowly seeps into
                             tattered clothes

this "vacation" will be over
but not soon enough
a couple more days
all I have to do is
                         avoid fisticuffs

no promises.

mind you,
the concept
looks great on paper

but when you persist
to insist
that eternity
exists

let go
and accept,
you'll thank me later

My silence
My pause
My sigh
Has always been a sign
That I'm not fine

My stupidity
My insanity
My ignorance
Has always been the reason
Behind my resistance

Have you ever wondered why the world is so rough?
These plains break and mold from those like you.
Trampling in no order-
only you, decide what remains,
while the rest of that mind,
listens to the lies of the world.
How high your head must be,
what little oxygen you must get,
for your ignorance is as fluffy as a cloud.
You see what you wish in the sinful…
oh, how the crime is you.

Sincerely yours,
The Suppressed Dirt