A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Sunday, January 20, 2013

"These Pep Talks Of Ours"

Eat a dick, pip-squeak! Thank you,
I'll be here all week, my arms
so tired. How's the leg?
You had me at "don't make me
beg," but take my life - please, oh,
please do. I'm using only ten percent
of what my brain thinks of my mind
in time and money, well, unspent -
unsung, unhung, unrung, bells on
with blinkers off, with ill-intent
and hangers-on from stern to prow,
all furrowed brows - unbowed, unbent,
their pink and pretty penises all in a
row, so innocent we row, all row - together, now! -
what floats such boats as these we've seen,
and rigged and sent out oe'r such waves,
though these four score and seven seas? So stormily!
So fierce of mine! O Captain! My Captain! Oh -wait.
That's me up there. I stand and spin, with pink
and idle hand, my paper-plate
halo: all painted gold, cocked rakishly, and well-bestowed
upon one brand-new devil horn - and sneer, with air of cold command
turned warm, like welcome-mats worn out. I'm on a boat.
The boss - as you'll no doubt
observe. Oh, you will pay
your obeisance, or I will know
the reason why not, sir.

A rakish angel, I have been -
and raked over the coals for it.
Was innocence not grand? Not bliss?
Not ignorance? Not Risk? Not sin?
Not Stratego? Not consequence?
Not self-defense? Insanity?
Nor mortal combat - finish him!
Don't copy me on these e-mails
no more - not blind, nor openly,
nor printed out for later. Sure,
okay - one more, then take these either/ors of yours
and row yourself back out to sea.
For we are up a crick, old cock! You take the fifth,
and I'll drink yours
and plead insanity - total.
From teetotal, to two toed tree
complete with sloths, so prideful in
their sinful lusts and gluttonies
and well-turned wraths. And envious
of all the petty jealousies, and covetous
of tiny points of difference that lie between
their pointed toes. The sloth drops off, into abyss
- and you tell me: "Stop sending these!" but hey

I worked real hard on this

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