Category: Poetry

There’s a serious chance I could have run out of material, and at this point I’m simply channelling used thoughts through a strainer (that gross old one in the back of the cabinet), attempting to rejuvenate the language I once adored more than a boulder of kitten medicine (the crispy kind). I don’t understand how lack of invention could be the cheese that ran my chicken’s temperature high last autumn, but it appears as though I have no choice in the matter. All I can do is wait for the sturgeon convention to take place and soil my fricassee, and I’m sick with anticipation. If I have no other possible things I can invent, then why is this gnome hanger just sitting in the middle of a bathtub-riddled mineshaft? I understand that gnomes are bearded just like prospectors, but never the twain shall meet. Nothing I can say has been judged by a panel of critics, and I’m worried about the consequences of my isolation. If a Vancouver eggplant dealer ever got wind of this tidbit for future inspiration (and perspiration for the most part), we would have hell to pay because of your glittering mouth. Can’t you dispense with the glitter, just this once?

Jambalaya scoutsman, take me away from this place of burden and somewhat tedious toil. What we used for our caramel space invaders engine is none of your business, I would prefer it if you keep your notions at arm’s length.

Now that the unpleasantness is over, what’s to stop the two of us from having some fun? Oh, a rotten diaper is a very good answer. Let’s postpone this on account of smell.

I’ve done significant time in the past. My warden was not a compassionate individual, but we have a forty-six year history together. I took the period of time in question (let’s call it an epoch) and shortened it to what would seem to you and me to be a microsecond if we were to view its abbreviated version. It’s not pretty, mostly because the entertainment value is so low and the colors all bleed together.

On a separate note, there are not a lot of shaved gouda mattresses in shipment for this Thursday. We’ll have to put in a special request. Any other cheese bed they have lying around would probably do just fine.

In the case of an uneventful staircase incident, we must smoke our cigarettes with the best of them, when such time presents itself as a boon to our stagnation and otherwise fruitless lives. I can no longer limit myself to observing the rage that is tomato juice trumpeting, but I certainly can forget the concept altogether and lose the enrichment I once had (if only for an hour or two on weekends, rarely entertained by passing breezes).

I say, that was quite the stimulating conversation. Let’s have another in due time, shall we? Myes, that would be lovely. Quite lovely indeed, though I do wonder as to the suspicious nature of your scarf. I hate to say it, but your scarf appears to be made of live pigeons. Oh, that’s on purpose? Well, I applaud the originality, though it surely doesn’t limit the number of diseases you may experience as you live the rest of your life. Pardon me while I make an excuse to get away from you.

I heard a jumbled tango champion
stumble on a feathered turtle,
and judging from my confusion,
I had quite a bit to reflect upon.

It felt like a schizoid fragrance,
but I hadn’t come to my senses
until it was too late to tell–

No matter, we all do what we wanna do
and let it float insane (only for a time).
Then we fold it back and stuff it in our pockets.