"all the books, art and poetry have gone"
taken from the mind of another "poet"
found lying flat faced on a forum,
i am smoking cloves djarum and---
we are among the ruins.
Mr. Lawrence reamed us hard
with that knowledge
and we loved his lover,
her crisis and carriage,
and should we ever wake the Lady,
let us wear the bottom half of her
ectasy and marriage.
in fact, let us eat lettuce,
and if we are ESL,
let us not quit over
by the noon and lunch hour
come the proud show of daisies
so grand no one may tell.
what else could we ask for,
what else could total more
but grammar checks and traveler's cheques
and maybe GWB's head on a spit
and the sound an arrow makes
when it hits dead center its target
and the dead-eyed archer's tremble as he quakes?
who's got the conch, anyway?
i'll trade you for some hooch!
and later we can get real busy
growing some our own,
don't you think? or don't you think?
you must not have gotten lost
going round the rink.
hey mister, or if you're miss or
misses, hey---hey now, you know
what i want to say is only this---
i'm not a papa, but i've got a bone,
and i love picking daisies
when the sun is done for the day
and i'm a son, my life is one-third run!
and who could be in love
and who could be on the run
and who could enjoy the sound of the pop gun
when its not what you look at,
but what you see matters most?
and i see you eclipse the wind sizzle
and i see me lip syncing your eulogy
how fantastical you operate my mind
thought i would think otherwise?
thought i might think you were behind?
in the middle of the moment
cough cough ignite night,
right right right right!
isn't that fun?
want to do it again?
go ahead---you next!