how i wish my fingers were the bristles
or my breath were the wind when it whistles
thru your hair, thru your hair
...
all would-be poets, take note!
proofread that so-called poem you just wrote!
those who aspire for more Famous Days
please steer clear of these clichés:
...
nothing makes a lousy day better
than seeing a sexy woman at the
convenience store
in her office attire with her white
...
my trousers have become uncomfortably snug
my belt is suddenly a notch too tight
i prayed for a few extra inches below the waist
...
geezer poets with your guns ablaze
who pathetically pine for your glory days
who shoot down young poets at every whim
...
i was jealous, but i don’t know why
perhaps it was because i felt emasculated,
picturing you on the back of that crotch rocket
tightly hugging his denim-clad middle-aged belly trying
...
to write a poem
for a woman's favour:
it is fraught with misery and pain
...
picture frames, my CD player, plates & silverware
there is nothing in this room she has not touched; her fingerprints are everywhere -
even the extra pillow on my bed
still has the soft bruise left by her head -
...
i remember staying up with you that heavy night
passing a bottle of raspberry wine back and forth
as we dragged ourselves thru a thick conversation
about prom night car crashes and brushes with death
...
relationships always begin
with a few kinds words
and invariably end with many
...