i was followed. i am still being followed;
seems i've taken a bite i can't swallow.

reading stale-great "old-smelling" poetry,
i fall asleep in the futon of life,
where there is always a "comfy" blanket.

Odie, leaps-up, slides to my feet, keeps them warm,
while my head eats-up all my youthful dreams;
places them in a stack, shuffles them straight.

now come join me; we'll live together and
die together. you wear the smiley mask;
i'll wear the heavier one, the frown.

after this Act, this Scene, we'll trade;
it is a farce, drama and comedy.
the books, doors to Sylvia, Milton, Neruda.

all have maps and directions, as a barker
for the times tho' Dylan says, 'they're changin'
but if i sneak in now, the usher won't see.

but please swallow my head as you leave.

09/16/2010

Posted on 09/16/2010
Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan