A found poem

electricity whips the sky
the clouds begin to cry and become bitter
we are no different
we close our gates when exposed
open doors when we want to show ourselves

biped beauty
biped filth
walking talking
regurgitating regenerating
words warping
causes communication crashes

its 2012
as if that is an answer properly fit
for other than what year it is – currently
or the outcome of an equation
or an address
not the address of a crook (politician)


The bad waitress

as i sit and ponder rukeyser
the itch keeps reoccurring from the cigar previous nights ago
hands ache from the work i have endured
upon my two wheeled companion
and the flavor of a european hash diminishes each time
the grey enters my veins

over heard from the rowdy suburban folk
jelly is sticky
if anything we won’t be able to fly
truly they must be insects metamorphosed from maggots
just as annoying