Monday, February 4, 2013


You are allowed to see the humor here. I promise I won't be upset with you. First off, note the date. This is not a poem I wrote today though I have not yet posted it on this blog. Also, I doubt I was writing all that seriously back then either. I may have started with a small hole... You know that whining is anger whistling through a small hole, don't you? I am pretty sure I snapped out of it by the end of the first verse.


I am desperate
to fill the hole I have found
in my head, my soul,
the sun, the sad wind.
No one should find a hole in
the wind. That's just wrong.

I've developed tics
over this - haunted, hunted,
I'm queer for creepers
coming at me from
behind and I shake clear down
to the tips of me.

July 27, 2010   3:17 PM

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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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