Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that mattering anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoftt's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most hacked and shlenktit browser on the planet, Claire. Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, only a nickle when you were just 5 to 10 and sold them to the neighbors straight out of your good father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Morales? You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonances become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it. So the Big native american says to the Little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp. for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret." If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hell to pay. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they take their cues. The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know, a Miller phrase from the day, his, that is. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we? We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?
Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that good old matter anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoft's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet, either. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, for after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most "hacked and shlenktit" browser on the planet, Claire.
Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's Store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, JUST a nickle when you were just five-to-ten and sold them to the neighbors straight out of father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Mr. Morales?
You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonances become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it.
So the Big Native Bmerican says to the little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical beach life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret."
If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hay to pell-mell. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they takes their cues.
The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we?
We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?
Monday mourning the weekend enameled to the bedsheets of Sunday afternoon, he be Gee-be great in bed even during the middle ages tho not so much of that matter anymore. The Director and her Seven Innuendoes, that she may have designed Microsoftt's Internet Explorer even if No she didn't invent the internet. Well of course, why didn't they think of that thot both her two clerks or two techs, after all she "built this network" on lock-and-load, so why not the holes in IT, i.e., they laugh. They would have claimed Firefox, not the most hacked and shlenktit browser on the planet, Claire. Halliburton and Blackwater, Vodka and Agent Orange, take your Quick Pick Ticket to the Wegman's store and trade it for three groceries there, one the red pepper for $2.43, only a nickle when you were just 5 to 10 and sold them to the neighbors straight out of yer good father's garden. This the Standard of Living, That the Canard of a Pay Raise, piggy-backed on a study of Larceny from elementary school and up or down, was UP with that, Drake? Down with that, are ya's, Morales? You'll bring in your own coffee, didn't the mafia own the vending machines here in Rochester, or was that 1972 you were so proud of your Italian heritage at age 11 the year before Cognition at 12 and the collective dissonance become all the rage then later in adolescence not so obviously becoming. This is to say, Not to mention the pubic hair you've all been waiting for. Still, nobody says, "Nice concept, Poor design" anymore, and it falls flat but for the form phat and sassy, Sis. One more stare at the ceiling oughta do it. So the Big native american says to the Little native american, "you're lucky you've got a wife and she's lucky she's got one, too." But the Scotch got taped and the soda clouded. Thanks Warren Broach and Machine Corp. for the calendar, this March it's Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the closest anybody gets to Tropical life around here. "We can dream," shouted one self to the other. "We can even day dream. We just can't execute, all bound up in those morals and ethics the lower middle and lower-lower middle classes get from the prez and the rest of the ridiculously rich, maybe 'cause they've got the stuff in surplus, maybe because they own so much that they can't even give it away, maybe because it's just, as they say, God's little secret." If you were less self-conscious than you were conscious of their selves' bloody consciences, there'd be some kind of hell to pay. The piper, the candlestick maker, the ticket hawkers at old Candlestick and new 3-M, they make tape, too, they sniff glues, they follow clues, they take their cues. The gov'nor gots his twats, his prostitutes, and he's Dem, too, and then he's destitute, no, he's not, but you can't use "twats" here, can you? Kate Mallet carrying a Big Sickle. You gots the trots, now, doncha know, a Miller phrase from the day, his, that is. Lookey-hear, there's the shlmiel: you love others your way, or not, and I love others, you too, my several ways. Deal? H. Miller apologized to her later on, and we'll never know if she showed any real understanding or compassion in return, will we? We will know this -- thousands of humble writers live their lives giving real care to others and we never know that from their writing, about which we always have the last words, don't we, Reader?
Thank you so much for commenting on this one. Can't tell you how nice and wonderful it is to see something read and complimented.
Sorry that I didn't notice your comment before today (4-25-08), but I'm so friggin busy and so friggin scattered some weeks/months that I forget that I posted things and that I should have been checking back in to see if anybody responded.
(Hey, I am getting closer to starting _Black Spring_, the journal, not the blog, again. Been a very long hiatus following some, ummm, financial difficulties (had to declare Bankruptcy two years ago) and other personal life endeavors (got married, too). And I may only be able to do the journal "online," but do please know that I'll want to include yer good poming when I get things going again, and forgive me if I inconvenienced you, and others, by holding other poems so long from 3 years ago, when I dropped the ball(s).
Thank you so much for commenting on this one. Can't tell you how nice and wonderful it is to see something read and complimented.
Sorry that I didn't notice your comment before today (4-25-08), but I'm so friggin busy and so friggin scattered some weeks/months that I forget that I posted things and that I should have been checking back in to see if anybody responded.
(Hey, I am getting closer to starting _Black Spring_, the journal, not the blog, again. Been a very long hiatus following some, ummm, financial difficulties
(had to declare Bankruptcy two years ago) and other personal life endeavors (got married, too). And I may only be able to do the journal "online," but do please know that I'll want to include yer good poming when I get things going again, and forgive me if I inconvenienced you, and others, by holding other poems so long from 3 years ago, when I dropped the ball(s).
Sincerely, Steve :)
Happy wishes on your marriage.
Glad to hear of Black Spring. No worries re: timeframe, that illusion we all bump into so often!
Be well, and I continue to enjoy hearing from you!
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