Bad Poetry Theater

"Abstinence is not sobriety."

want the addled iteration
the simple razor action
of one more beer:
to let fake sobriety alone
to set addiction back upright

--but of course--
addiction could be drink,
could be drugs,
could be the unchecked shame
of checking msgs. again and again,
it's all the samesize stomp
to prone irish bugs

--and yet--
as long as the
addiction is the promise of time
lost
time
lost in the moment of getting lost.
And lost, stringing everything along--
the pokergameboxscores
/sexypornopictures/24/blockbusternights
deathwishes/love'slore etc...
over all those smooth saint walter mitty beads
fingers run amok,
strung up or strung out
(-hee hee--
DON’T GIVE A FUCK!)
the way polanski runs 'round with his little thieves
seizing on every balletic dodge with voracious
framing fingers

--just so--
pretend to invent your name
that point in the cosmos of "you" and "me"
(but there's no "you" in that old saw cruelty)
nothing crude
nothing bonedusty
--in fact--
the teeth may break off against
tender honest skin.

--in that case--
put the broken pieces in your pocket
and use them like new words
to curse the world with--addiction in solution, a cure.

---

pls. feel free to post poetry on this blog, but only if you can honestly, in your truest of hearts, say to yourself: "This is bad, or probably bad (i.e., I wish someone of considerable taste and influence would tell me it isn't), but in the end, at the end of the day, when all is said and done (or when any such cliches become exhausted) I don't give a fuck, I want to post it."

four keys to life...?

something to do
someone to love
something (a goal) to work for
something to believe in


I have two, but the last one makes it hard to do the next to last one, which makes it very hard to do the first one which is one of the two (the second being the other of which i have). Advice? Please post, but since good advice comes in haiku, please observe the form:

e.g., hee hee one two
three, life's meaning trembles
as child's fingers count

autobiography

Si, tengo cara de "no fui" (Yes, I have the look that says "it wasn't me"). And when I begin to sweat, you can detect the scent of chanel no. 3. But it ain't me, babe, naw it ain't me. It's the smell of paint. If your kids aren't smeared with the same paint, it's time to call my realtor. Masks are must haves to keep it real.

misterioso

This man has a biography somewhere on wikipedia, but imagine, it's full of half-truths and urban legends. If you were this man, I'd ask you to write your autobiography in 99 words or less amending what your wikipedia biographers got wrong. What would you write?
(water, felipe, juli, please POST your answers rather than adding as comments-- I think I've given you clearance to post so plse do-- if you can't plse email me). I will post mine Sunday. hugs, gato

lost again?

some possible answers:

you might be looking in the wrong place

you're just in front of that tail you're chasing

you might find yourself lost in a book

you're at the bottom of that glass-- keep drinking

when's the last time you saw yourself? you're always in the last place you look

look for your keys and wallet-- you're probably with them

lost again? good for you! send me a postcard when you get a chance, or post it here...