DeepAsleep
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2004
- Posts
- 774
I just wanted a place to throw out some random poetry, the stuff that comes to me without siezing everything I am. Odes to empty liqour bottles and assorted cigarette butts, I guess. My own spot for random inspiration, or little stuff I don't want to submit.
~~~
The man with the needles
Looked at me like I’d
Grown another head for him to put holes in,
But I demanded the hollow one,
And he took a chunk of flesh
Out of my ear
a quarter inch across
replaced the missing piece
With half an ounce of steel
and
a sense of accomplishment
That comes from seeing people with
More holes
Than just my one
Flinching at how much it must have hurt.
~~~
(Because I feel like I promised an ode to an empty liqour bottle..)
Southern Comfort
smells like alcoholism
And
tastes like hopelessness
But it's the only thing that makes me cry
reliably.
I keep that empty fifth
on top of my bible.
(The one with the yellow cover,
stained by smoke
water-damaged)
A reminder:
stop looking
just see.
Everything is right
where you
put it.
~~~
Cross word
puzzles:
arguing when you
don't know what you
did wrong.
~~~
Bar napkin poem
The sax player sounds
like he's throttling a goose
and what's sauce for the goose
is a punch in the eye
for his bitch-ass.
Leave Coltrane alone.
~~~~
Whee! Digital cable calls.
~D.A.
~~~
The man with the needles
Looked at me like I’d
Grown another head for him to put holes in,
But I demanded the hollow one,
And he took a chunk of flesh
Out of my ear
a quarter inch across
replaced the missing piece
With half an ounce of steel
and
a sense of accomplishment
That comes from seeing people with
More holes
Than just my one
Flinching at how much it must have hurt.
~~~
(Because I feel like I promised an ode to an empty liqour bottle..)
Southern Comfort
smells like alcoholism
And
tastes like hopelessness
But it's the only thing that makes me cry
reliably.
I keep that empty fifth
on top of my bible.
(The one with the yellow cover,
stained by smoke
water-damaged)
A reminder:
stop looking
just see.
Everything is right
where you
put it.
~~~
Cross word
puzzles:
arguing when you
don't know what you
did wrong.
~~~
Bar napkin poem
The sax player sounds
like he's throttling a goose
and what's sauce for the goose
is a punch in the eye
for his bitch-ass.
Leave Coltrane alone.
~~~~
Whee! Digital cable calls.
~D.A.