For Mortimer Called Mort Or Myself Or You - Poem by Max McGovern
the collected files of wonder
dot BMT exists as DMT . (dot)
the lesser of two stupids
fights over how many or much
should be taken or withheld.
how much saved or expelled.
in the pant
oh mime! The catastrophic continuing of daily activities
dyed green or dabbed organic.
and lines for the awake, for a cake,
for a querulous, square-less cafeteria
where all the kids, cool,
sit in order
of their clothes.
where future teachers read prose
and the politicians and preachers
speak of which drug is currently
up their nose-
shaped mentality of the kid who learned the wall.
he learned to look right through it and through everyone
the language failed, so clear to him, but poor thing, he couldn’t draw,
so he sat and stared at everything
making mental notes on all.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You