78 3 2
|
It was my sophomore high school English teacher who
Managed to inspire me to start writing a little something
And I remember, oddly, that she was missing
A part of her middle finger
Now I realize that maybe she just couldn't give me
The whole
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880147
|
A brief colorful season/
and then the fall as winds/
break the hold the leaves have
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94455
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there should be a word for it.
|
85486
|
If I seemed disappointed after our conversation,
then, for the record, that was never the case.
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874179
|
The cornbread for dressing cools./
The cranberries boil with one cup each/
of sugar and water. The aromas are nice
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65311
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I'm not a practicing angel,
ladies and gentlemen
Got these penny wings
out of boredom
I need to know
that black and grey place
inside an angel
where you bow your head,
when a puppet
forgets himself,
when a man learns
how smal
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85154
|
|
10421710
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The list of things to live for/
shortens with age. The list of regrets/
lengthens.
|
50501
|
A man learns too late
How small deer laugh
It’s true
When a man goes mad
Ropes come down from the clouds
He cannot be sure of anything
Anything
The way’s uncharmed
He thinks someone else’s strange thoughts
And it all seems a simple
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70632
|
He’s got horns and a tail
I found him on sale
He’s got snake in his DNA
Evil in his eye
And plenty of chicken pot, chicken pot
Chicken pot pie
But he sure can play piano
With those giant lobster hands
In his ratty raccoon coat
And his
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22511
|
Now they’re excavating tunnels
Under Telegraph Avenue
In order to house the souls
Of some revolutionary poets who
Say they suffered for mankind
While fighting for standing room only
In the Great San Francisco
Poetry Wars
You wanted to
|
849158
|
If I had slept a little longer, I/
would not have seen this rarity at all.
|
71033
|
I’m living at the Edge of Graffiti
And yet I still survive
Because I walked across the line
Separating me from the rest of mankind
You can see me out here
I’m in so much pain
All that’s written on my face
I think it’s pretty plain
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102444
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This is your mystery, your story Full of beauty and all-encompassing loveA brushstroke washes the canvas cleanYou start over with a new directionDreaming of me as you paint your wordsWriting just like Keats, Shelley and BrontëAbout sorrow, rain and the wheels of passion
|
23832
|
Warning:
The cure for laughter
is only temporary
|
