I found this older piece that hasn't yet been posted on the blog. I lose a lot of poems, or they get lost, or they run away from home of their own accord deciding to hide in one of my flash drives.
I Hate It When I Can't Sleep
The nights aren't closed-in enough,
the darkness isn’t dark enough to be called
darkness anymore, not these days.
Too many streetlamps guarding the corners
and the parking lot elms,
the black tar pot holes all but dried up
tormented by a lack of rain.
Clean the house, scrub the sinks,
breakout the vacuum cleaner
listen to its small engine purr
like a cat in heat.
is that I gave up
caring about the solar system
the moment they denounced Pluto,
turned her into a stone, a measly rock.
than the God they've demoted to a myth.
Heaven. Nothing more than a delusion
dreamed up by the tired working class
that longs for their suffering to end.
Woodie 4-27-14 (rewrites 4-3o-16)
I Hate It When I Can't Sleep
I’m wondering if there’s even
a tiny bit of shadow left in me.The nights aren't closed-in enough,
the darkness isn’t dark enough to be called
darkness anymore, not these days.
Too many streetlamps guarding the corners
and the parking lot elms,
the black tar pot holes all but dried up
tormented by a lack of rain.
I should sleep, but I seldom do . .
. these days.
I should do something useful, then.Clean the house, scrub the sinks,
breakout the vacuum cleaner
listen to its small engine purr
like a cat in heat.
There’s something black-green
growing
in the toilet bowl.
Tomorrow crawls inside today
and all I can say about it allis that I gave up
caring about the solar system
the moment they denounced Pluto,
turned her into a stone, a measly rock.
Educated people are cruel.
Science even cruelerthan the God they've demoted to a myth.
Heaven. Nothing more than a delusion
dreamed up by the tired working class
that longs for their suffering to end.
Woodie 4-27-14 (rewrites 4-3o-16)
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