Maybe

Yes this makes me feel like man,
to write some poems for my friends,
show them that I understand,
the trends.

Yes I feel like a heavy wall,
showing all that I am tall,
one brick, two brick,
now-I-am-small.

Two different poems

I.
omg, just finished a walk,
with my Dad, he couldn't stop
talking about his sprinkler system
and "valves".

I interjected maybe once,
to comment that the word "valve" was
on his top-10 vocab list,

since he really seems to use it
every week,
and when he does,
he'll say it like 10 times per minute.



II.
Lily floats on silver pond,
'neath a withered forest frond,
beckoning the eye to see
into whispy mists beyond.

Pigs

pork sugar

bacon salt

i don't care

it's not my fault

walk feet to ground.

throw stick to fire.

put stick in person.

hit stone to sharp.

spear at horse.

reign on horse.

throw coal to furnace.

wish fire on person.

shift into d.

make fire on person.

shift to d.

connect ether and wifi.

invade cubicle.

progress to pieces.

prevail to earth.

Post-

Right! pie is a piece
I know it is’
I know I know
the Economy tells me so!
I used to know
Because I could travel
I could decide
I could be a certain being
in a certain place
and
now

I have no control
when did that end
where did that stop

And I cant figure out
how I lost that connection
to my identity
because
I lost
the connection
to my
energy…

Mother Cow

Mother Cow, may
mother may I have your cream?
my food is in need

Nay! for thy time and dream
is life,
and thine is
not mine!

Treez

Whispy willow trees
blowing in the breeze
I decided I would write about

I Saw them once
how long ago I don’t know
how nicely I thought they swayed
when I wanted to see that

It would be nice if I knew that
breese,
those treese, now

harp

J.B. says "roasty", says of dogs "I am the 'nobler' of beast"
slips a piece of paper into his pocket that he found under a laundry machine,
which reads:

"Last night I dreamt of skeletons
and cities made of brittle bones
and one of them I called my home
and where I was I was alone...
Sincerely, M. Shoe"

He goes home and slips into something stiff and starchy,
then slips the paper in between the pages of a book.
Later that night, pretending to retire early to read, he
picks the paper up gingerly and smells it.
"It smells like dust", he whispers.

The next morning he wakes up and the paper is gone.
"Did you take it?", he asks the nearest person.
No one has any idea where it went, and as he makes
a vegan soy sausage for breakfast he remembers a dream
he had:

"I was in the woods,
the stars looked right,
and I remember it was at dusk,
I was not frightened,
but there was a blue light nearby,
I followed it for seven days,
and found a pile of clothes left behind by a small man.
It smelled earthy,
I collected them quickly.
The earth was scattered with rusting machines."

He poked at his breakfast with a spatula, and looked pensive.
The pan he was using to roast his meal looked rusty.
His nostrils flared and detected "earthy".
Later that day an SUV plowed into his body at a crosswalk,
and he died immediately.