Inside the house she's -
Playing her cello.
I can hear it, faintly -
I am but a ghost to her.
We used to ...
-
Outside the house -
I walk slowly by.
She is but a ghost to me.
You asked for it Buttkus
Posted at Feel Free to Laugh
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6 comments:
Nice house probably lot's of rising damp, mold, rot, and spiders.
...Per Centage
This doesn't make any sense.
Yes, I did ask for it, and you have
come through with sparkling and
enigmatic poetics, as I knew you
could if you decided to, or were
moved, nudged, or cajoled in
that direction. Nice poem too;
very enigmatic, existential,
and existing on a tangent
that is only home to you;
very e.e. cummings like.
That's just the long way of saying it doesn't make any sense.
It's still not possible to link to Magpie.
Whatthehell makes sense?
The Bush Wars inherited
by Obama? Old age?
Attacks of CRS and aches
and pains and blank spaces?
Calling things Jumbo Shrimp?
Filing things under Government
Intelligence? Endeavoring to
be engaged by rhetorical
questions? Jean-Paul Satre?
Jackson Pollack's drippings?
Mozart's operas? My cat?
My wife? Your wife? Why
a GPS sends you only the
stupid ways first, as if you
have forgotten how to
read a map? Why does
Motel 6 rooms cost $65.00?
Why we do not fear for our
lives living in the shadows
of several fire mountains?
Why do we whistle in cemeteries?
Why couldn't I find an SUV that
was painted red instead of
government mint silver?
Why haven't I seen Bigfoot
yet? Why does no one give
a shit I saw that UFO on
the high CA deserts in 1983?
Why do I have a lot of hair
on my fireplug of a body,
and you have less on your
lanky frame? The technology
that emerges daily to help
us forget about the important
issues on this planet, and keeps
our children occupied and zoned
out during elections? Christ, I
could go on, but it makes no
sense to do so.
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