Sunday, January 8, 2012

*Too Bad It's Not My Turn.

Positively 8 Ball

On the house,
Beers with a failing marriage.
A sitcom tagline,
Bar room scrawling
On a napking you’re too drunk to carry.
And writers have tablets
Their minds and a head
That carries mistakes,
Love, words & a high back to bed.
Retail insomnia
Doesn’t replace
The remembrance of the
Pre, post war high
I was clean up until now
Which is yet another lie
I’ve been positively 8 ball
 A poet metaphorically high.
And self-aware,
Cynically, self-mocking a rhyme.
I’m forgettable
I pounded into my skull,
Until I used up what sanity made that so.
I’m ignored and useless
Selfish  poet,
Pity partier
Table for one
I said I was self-mocking
And self destructively
Introspectively stubborn
Superiority complex.
I look back at my first words.
And how much I’ve erased
You put too much away
Into attics & trunks
And cliché hiding places,
I’ve become
Positively 8 ball
This poem has no ending.


Godspeed & Goodnight

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