if inspiration doesn't come soon
i fear poems of this sort could become the norm.
talks talks talks….
he
talks
talks
talks
through the
hate radio that he
has blasting in the room
through his car alarm
going off on the street
talks
talks
talks
i wonder how
a man can speak so much
this isn’t natural
this is for women
this chatter
talks
talks
talks
i can feel a headache
coming on
and i’m glad the liquor store
is two blocks away
talks
talks
talks
so much
that i can’t concentrate
on the paper
that i can’t figure out
which celebrity
is cheating on their wife
or which one is going
back to rehab
talks
talks
talks
like an albatross on my ankles
like a knife wedged into my chest
talks
talks
talks
….and it ain’t even lunch time yet.
something in the air.. i was just telling someone i am barely able to scratch out 15 lines and then i feel slam wore out,damp rag to my forehead and a fresh cigarette as I lie back like a dying Camille.. christ what is it lately.. Oh I know.. oh hell, no i don't....
ReplyDeleteForgot to say, I like your "talkie poems" alot....
ReplyDeleteI've felt the same way lately. Tuesday I sat down to write and ended up just downloading songs onto the iPod. i'm blamming it on the change of seasons right now, and hope i get down to "serious" business once the fall truly arrives.
ReplyDelete