Sunday, January 29, 2012

A Tossed Salad of Small Poems

i can’t give myself what you need
wouldn’t even know where to start
damned stigmata refuse to bleed
can’t find the poison in my heart
an aging useless shikse girl
who doesn’t want to play no more
can’t have sex on a tilt-a-whirl
doesn’t care if you slam the door

January air is still and stealthy
People would say that it isn’t healthy
It teases chilled humans with thoughts of snow
Before the winds have decided to blow
Nothing good is started in winter time
Not even a smallish and piquent rhyme

lost words
karaoke without music
conversation on the run

be so wrapped
in today’s work
that yesterday’s
are forgotten

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