Surfeit Writ, with Time Constraint
A green collection in the field. Or try again without opprobrium.
Make better work for good. The copula will see to that whatever word
One puts down will suffice to grow the poem as a stockpile of receipts.
Drafted on stolen time at till, furtively tapping from the train en route:
A text meets its destination of necessity if not by definition
Nowhere so much as in those daily cases when it says ‘I’m late’
Without anxiety or explanation, but as Colin says in my defense
How could you be when you just got here? I go for longer every year
Sleep worse when I’m not going anywhere, while world war wages weather
In the wires. Not that the city is to blame, nor any poem per se—
These mini amenities we can’t help but attend, don’t at me.
Is writing less dirty when idle than wrested from work?
We contradict ourselves in selling cheer, few are so agile
As to be both minion and beginner; paid opinionated sated
For another two-day interim in psychedelic overdraft, between
The reader and the automated teller—I can’t buy back what I need
November Rain
Only why live when you can
Be buried for ten bucks?
It is not enough to say, no,
To pronounce, that Poetry, this
Poem, is Neither of two Evils—
If it isn’t either, is it both.
The long-form ballot as
A kind of hopscotch in
The census in the streets
Swap seats for second choices
Doesn’t mean that I eat
Peaceably beside myself
Scared fuckless on the bus
Big gym or little gym
Dance class for self-defence
East coast or west it’s all
Punk rock aerobics to me
Sweating in a leather vest
To that new oldies station
Spend attention on me
Do not paint the populace
A picture make a scene
