i feel terrible

but sometimes i like it

it’s not so bad, really

especially if existing

on the verge of tears

is a new thing

which i think

it is for me

the thought of her, though

is still like a needle through silk

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My My




the first half of your life went by like a big toy truck

on its way to dumping legendary dirt in fields of your choosing

& great screeching noises were made as it skidded into others

yes, sometimes there were bad crashes and even tears before dreams

but as is proper in the playing of games, you were hard

but fair & always shook hands firmly with the others, no

matter who was the victor or the vanquished on the scoreboard

of your dreams, & hey, you always had a shower afterwards

& were never late for dinner, so what

kind of playground is this you ended up in then

& why do you always leave your heart behind?


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computers can’t compete with an old bloke

clad well, grant me that much, at least, & he’s got

the know-how, & lying in a drawer at home

a t-shirt which says in a large-impact font

       GIFTED LIVER, & sure, more power to him & his gang

i say, they’re still working the net & the angles

& putting it out as easily & happily as 3-year-olds dance

in 4-dimensional poems about fisher-king heroes

it’s as plain as pain & even more

joyous than the void, this life-sized chunk

of pulp fiction with your name on the inside

this thing you can look up

to, too, almost a flamboyance of flamingoes

it’s better than great, it’s alright



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Wasn’t Listening



& you weren’t with me either

& we rehearsed our insertions


& waited for something objectionable

& went on like that for quite a while


& then we got worn down

& couldn’t hear anyway


& all we had was ourselves

& so much more we couldn’t recall


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