Hmm. I'm liking this idea of writing bad poems of nonsense with an arbitrarily decided number of words. I think it could work. Next, I'll arbitrarily decide the structure that the poem must fit. Wow, I love writing bad poetry. It doesn't even have to make sense. Actually, I think it's better when it doesn't.
The Absence of Fire
by SJSTL
When a synapse fires in the morning
Does it make a sound
Like a pop or like a thud
Or is it something that we as robots
Aren’t supposed to worry about
Okay then, just let me find my socks
Amidst the tangled thoughts of the masses
At a time when everyone else
Would never speak a line out of turn
Some idiot wandered
Over to the smoothie machine
And threw up
All over it
Man, I really wanted a smoothie today
I guess that an
Italian Soda With Whipped Cream
Will suffice
Hold the fire, and don’t forget the ice
This is the way the world ends
Not getting what you want
And settling for something
Similar but not quite the same
And now this lovesong is stuck in my head
I think all things to all people
Is nothing at all to anyone
What a weird day to notice for the first time
That one leg is shorter than the other
A large bird just landed on my window sill, dead.
Or maybe it was a vision
A prophetic vision of death and life
All wrapped up in a total wash
Of the windows
Of an office building
2 comments:
I like it, too.
Does this mean your office has a window?
Although, I think you're mean to order an Italian soda. I hear those are hard to make.
Yes, it does have a window. I'm looking out of it right now. At another office building. Well, not right now. Right now I'm actually looking at my monitor to make sure what I'm typing doesn't have any spelling mistakes. And I didn't order an Italian soda. I didn't order anything. I just made that part up. Some dudes did wash my windows today though.
Post a Comment