Filed under: Pensation | Tags: dreams, mondays, sanded, sane, sanities, silly
sometimes Silly is soundest
it’s the surest sand I’ve seen
protecting me from
mondays and the sanities between
but sometimes Sane is safer
the solid sanded scene
protects me from their
stares and my dilapidated dreams
There once was a headless man Earl
Who wanted to find him a girl
So he followed the fad
And posted an ad
And now he’s engaged to a squirrel
Poetry requires a dastardly imbalance
this is why I cannot write
I always end up in the middle
I push pedal pull paddle pry
away from the middle
but I’m always in the middle
every way the middle
every day the middle
Poetry with its selfish arrogance,
rejecting my middle words,
bland and balanced words
My middle’s too mild to be mentioned
with its base alliteration
and middle-emotion
Being in the middle and all-
my words are too middle to matter
I wish I could make me not middle
I wish I could stop poem-ing
This is plain ridiculous.
Today the light seems slightly softer . . .
slightly smoother . . .
slightly right . . .
The shadows on the walls are yawning . . .
still-ish lolling . . .
la-de-dahs . . .
That brick within me’s slowly soaking . . .
silent stillness . . .
simmer soft . . .
Surrender stubborn arrogances . . .
smaller me-ing . . .
freeing song
