Yep, that's right. From here on out it's bad poetry only. None of that sissy REAL POETRY garbage, only my own, um, garbage. It's okay though, when a bad poem falls in the forest it only makes a sound if it falls into a river (or lake, or any body of water bigger than a puddle of beaver urine, really) and then the sound is kind of like a little "splash" sound that doesn't carry very far because those ferns absorb the exact frequency distribution of those little "splash" sounds and the only places that bad poems occur in nature are always in conjunction with ferns, the most ancient of all plants. So yeah.
Sixteen (+/- 1) Lines from a Sheet of Graph Paper
byline
She once visited a friend
in California where trees hang like dangling chains
from the ears of the sky.
Her friend was older than her by half
a month, 45 and 7/12ths to 45 and 13/24ths
But other than that difference in age,
they were like two peas in a greek salad
green, and completely out of place.
She longed to see her friend succeed
but always looked the other way
at the least opportune of times
and missed success after succession
until a woman became king, which was a long time later
And alas it wasn't either of these two
these friends and erstwhile lovers
pitching softballs to each other
over coffee.
1 comment:
Yay, bad(?) poetry is back! Is bad photoetry coming back too?
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