Bad Poem X 3

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underwater

minutes before the lake
the dog asleep on the floor
the news on the radio
the woman in the shower

and I’ve become
paper thin
thinking wide
the coming bottom…

those hissy fits
having wrecked
the works
now beat their gums

I hear tribal drums
as the war for more
or less,
moves
stateside

 

flowers for red smith

the ink is indigo
the blood invisible
ball point bathetic

open a vein,
bleed contemporaneously
why rewrite redux
and wallow in the
used to be

not another walk
in the park
in the past
without you,
please

Sunday Over/Under

Awaiting football
I pratfall
a poem
about pub grub
and a perfect
pour
and the
score
on a single
flat-screen
with a brunch
blues bottom
end
volumed
judiciously
for a
curious
crowd
that takes
the spread
seriously

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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