Found some more poetry

looking for a really old sketch that an old friend requested, i have discovered some older poetry that i wrote for a class back in college.
huh, back in college. i sound really old now that i say that.

anyway poetry. i'll say it again, i hate poetry and it has to be really good to stand alone without music or pyrotechnics. the following is none of these things.

so, poetry:

Dear Larry (regarding the relevant voidtion),

I can’t help but feel for your situation.
I understand all the crying, the tossing, the turning.
The acquired voidtion.

I can’t help but feel sympathy for you.
After all, you are much of an abbrev. you.
The -iated being a portion of this voidtion.

I can’t help but feel sorry for your new limits.
After all, I am the one with the armoire
that caused said voidtion.

I can’t help but feel . . . well, implicated.
After all, it was my apartment we were clearing out.
The apt. that perpetrated aforementioned voidtion.

I can’t help but feel responsible.
After all, I was the one that pushed the fucker onto you from the third floor window.
The one that created the voidtion (see above)

I can’t help but feel relieved.
After all, I won’t have to look at you for a while.
Due to applicable voidtion.

I also can’t help but feel more relieved.
After all, I’ll be getting to date your girlfriend.
Voidtion, n. empty pain.
[see fig. 1]






fig. 1

AND I can’t help but feel overjoyed.
After all, you’re in so much pain you can’t even kiss your mother.
Precursory voidtion to blame.

Hope you get well soon,
but die sooner.

Kip

++++++++



+++++++++

Here's one that came out of a silly exercise where you free write (just spew anything) for two minutes than go back and remove every third word:

Product of My Exercise

flock to new place
kid’s time stopped
for to flow and in goes in
toare no for time
tick tock bad in desolate room
stops and crash to floor
rays with sunlight
creaks lines
lines flipping itself folds
couch taft lights sun
sunlight is from the sky zenith
constellation dots canvas blips
time circles confusion blip blip
i’m the clockface slowly at knot’s hands
update the space
i get to you
to destruction
count it down the hands as radar
10 9 76 43 1 over
starts again we are no more
you, me, us
time forever


IT's better if you read it twice for some reason???
++++++++++++++

The Flight

When you stand and you’re all alone,
Your mind is wounded and prone.
People may stare,
Up in dark like a flare.
Tilting down to squint at blood and bone.

++++++++++++++

Upside Down

A town can be a messy place,
Where men and women get shot in the face.
Where the proles unite,
And make day out of night,
While the blue make chase with haste.

Amateurs with guns,
To stop the nasty ones,
And the good get pulled from their trucks and beaten.

So scream and throw and loot and haul,
For tomorrow is a tougher day for ya’ll.
Take what you can while the law is light,
And burn the smoke to block the light.

But be weary of those citizens with caps,
Or you may be thrown and hauled perhaps.

+++++++++++

things to help make a good day

spree
clouds
supplies
mild temp
an airy auto
periodic hot dogs
a faraway destination
someone else’s credit card
a trunk with plenty of space
a smile for everyone you meet
the gal of your dreams on your arm
liquor stores with no security cameras
paper thin sheriffs blown by passing cars
the border of your choice

++++++++++++

some of those i can really get behind. there's a couple of really stupid ones i left outfor your own good.
maybe those will be on the outtakes for the dvd of my blog, if i could just ever get that made.

sleepyTime,
b

ps - i hate poetry.
but it can be therapeutic. give it a shot. i want to read poetry written by my parents because i don't think i ever have. my inbox better be flooded tomorrow afternoon when i get up.