"tmrw" poems
it's 8:00 somewhere in Washington D.C.
and the global selection committee has made its picks:
for the 473rd time
all the number one seeds are filled by countries
that break the most rims and shatter the most glass.
here we have the U.S of the North American region
taking on Haiti, cos the poorest countries
always place no higher than 14.
China of the Asia region has drawn
Nepal,
Israel gets Palestine,
and Italy pulls Ethiopia.
There are no African countries-
they didn't make the tournament this year.
No problem tho,
the selection committee figures
they've been beaten up
too many times
to even make a layup.
Games start tmrw
so grab your favorite basketball merchandise
and keep the channel set.
There will be no upsets
so don't bother
pulling for the underdog.
They've already been
neutered, anyway.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
So **** intoxicated
We drank hard cider all day long
And *** all night
I drove home in a sea
of scattered thoughts and mixed feelings
You said 'blink 3 times if we're dying'
I fell asleep at the wheel
Here we are again
You're tugging me in
But all that powder under your nose isn't
too comforting; those blood shot eyes,
they just aren't too promising
You are tired
And I am scared
Just an other Saturday night
*im reaaaaaaally ****** up right now
but I heard once "write drunk. Edit sober"
So we'll see what tmrw brings*
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
It looks like I'll never get my hands on those obliques. He walked out of my sights and into a steel press; I have had dreams straddling a lathe, ************ with anything I could find because my hands were borrowed late at night by a phony jesus. I wish, ultimately, that I was still a waitress living in a tiny trailer with two toy poodles; nails hot pink, bathtub shrine to flame, a psuedo dictator/drug lord. I could have touched him then, then nobody held my fingers to the slider, to the faucet. Better, though, to do better. A block of ice for my heat, and fiction. He wrote fiction. A sensible person would understand when I say shipwreck, my bled, my bed. Like wakoski-sex obsessed; shoulders and ribs instead of leather boots, mustaches. What nonfiction breadth, and seams. My teeth have ridges, says any spelunker thinking of oral. Its scary when disease settles in. Thats scary, making me sliver next to this scenic route, this ship-width. I'm sure I won't remember him tomorrow.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC