a poem for today, 15 August 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of nineteen sentences and its image]
He has like poopoo in his baggie.
Burn baby, burn.
Which has to be removed very carefully.
Grow a mustache.
She wondered if he wasn't a fool.
I dread tension.
It doesn't matter what the President did.
His body fell.
This is a poet I'm talking about.
Fuck the police.
You feel selfish bringing everybody else down.
Never do that.
Call back if you can hear me.
Wear the fishnets.
The whole thing is sort of demoralizing.
The obvious is almost always a lie.
I’m fiercely loyal in love and cocktails.
You know, you're like me.
I've got my own, sorry.
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