Dated 23-August-2001
=======================

Head colds head colds
They Certainly rot,
Blocked up sinuses
Nose full of snot.
Snorting and bleating
Like sheep with a Scot.

Mucus and phlegm
with no place to go
I’m honking away
Nothing to show
Unable to suck,
Unable to blow.

Stuffy head, fever
Ain’t doing shit for me med.
not sleeping at all
As I sweat in my bed
Feeling so lousy,
I wish I were dead

Well, no use in whining
Or Bitching out loud,
Ain’t no one to hear me
I’m apart from the crowd
So I guess I’ll just sit here
My blankie, my shroud

Dated 23-August-2001
=======================

Today I give thanks to god
And thanks to my fork and knife
That I was born carnniv’rous
And feast on the flesh of life.

Small things scurry to and fro,
Living out their lives in dread
Of becoming an entree
And to something bigger fed

The strong devour the weaker
It happens every day
And the weak go very well
With Merlot and Cabernet

Days when people piss me off
My anger running freely
On days like this I’m happy
That something died to feed me

I gnash my teeth and swallow
And savor every taste
And pray the day will soon come
Its my enemies I baste

Dated 22-August-2001
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Freaks toting cell phones
Yuppies with ink
These cross-culture habits
Are starting to stink.
Stations in life
No longer defined
Just keep who you are
Locked tight in your mind.
No niches, no crannies
In life’s little game
Lost are the labels
That made us the same.
Drop outs made doctors
Preps stocking shelves
Now all our lives,
Are defined by ourselves.

Dated 22-August-2001
=======================

Hot breath on my neck,
Bodies pressed against mine,
Moving in rhythm,
To an unheard drum.
Caught in the middle,
Of undulating flesh,
Heading together towards release.

Dated 21-August-2001
=======================

Oh why must all my precious time,
Be spent on meter, phrase and rhyme?
These words I lay out in a row,
My reasoning I do not know.

To speak some old immortal truth,
Or just my inner pain to soothe,
Or maybe just to hear my speech,
And find some wisdom out of reach.

I think that verse and poetry,
Shows lack living symmetry.
Inside my brain must be amiss,
A piece that causes thoughts to miss.

I try to stop, but still I write,
Stanzas left and stanzas right
I cannot seem to scratch the itch,
I guess I’m just poetry’s bitch

• This was saved as “unfinished”, I added the last stanza 2-July-2026 to close it out.

Dated 1-August-2001
=====================

I’m sitting here upon the bowl,
And feeling crap pushed from my hole,
I’m writing verse that seems quite droll,
While sitting on the can.

A stink comes forth from porc’line throne,
I dread to think it as my own,
I’m truly sickened to the bone,
While sitting on the can.

One last hard push, and I am though,
Finally done expelling poo.
I’ve paper work just left to do.
While sitting on the can.

Just a flush left in the going,
oh God, no, it’s over flowing,
Where’s the plunger, I’m not knowing.
While sitting on the can.

Grab the mop and start a swishing,
Really gross stuff starts a squishing,
Ate more fiber, I’m a wishing.
While sitting on the can.

Dated 23-May-2001
====================

I’m gonna die on my 65th birthday

I’m going to be become a beach bum.

I’m gonna live in single room and just spend my twilight years reading

I’m gonna live with my kids in my old age.

I’m going to go insane, and be a ward of the state.

I’m going to win lotto, and live off the interest.’

I’m going to be abducted by aliens.

I’m going to just sit ZEN one day and never come back.

I’m going to grow old,
Other than that,
All the best laid plans in the world mean nothing.

Dated 17-May-2001
====================

Hey Jack?
Where ya been?

Did you finally just
Beat it?

Sorry.

Bad pun.
I had to do it.

A bottle of wine
With YOUR name on it,
Jack.

All for you,
For a story,
A poem,
A bad pun,
For you.

You lead a faction,
Headed to nowhere,
And with you they found it.

No where.

Its all around us,
Everywhere we look,
But we had,
No idea.
Until we were lead,
And shown,
To nowhere.
It was pretty beat.
But it was cool.

There’s still this wine here,
Jack.
Wanna swig?

Jack?

Dated 17-May-2001
====================

I must stop writing poetry,
Do it all day long,
Its just a tad bit better than,
Breaking into song.

I think I think in rhythm and Rhyme.
Couplets, Triplets, verse.
This Shakespeare like obsession, mine,
Getting quite perverse.

Oh well, I guess no fighting it,
Poems I must make,
But if I start to shake and drool,
Kill me for Christ sake