breaking poem

this just in:
man writes poem
in form of flash
news report
(details at 11)

121807 life

life is a fight
against time
nature
(also, that barn
party sounds cool.)

japan's missile defense

the final war
will not be
between
2 men
2 countries
it will be
between
2 buttons

educate yourself

120807 Saturday Night in Augusta Maine

the inside of
the olde beale
street bbq is
modified so
that it doesn't
damage the
historic warehouse/
industrial interior.
The bar's only
separation from
the dining area
(I am the only one
at the bar), is
its direction (
the dining area
is filled
). I am sitting
eating, writing,
no not writing,
reading, eating,
writing, leaving
have one more
drink and leaving
pay for the last
one in cash around
$1 tip is 20 percent

when life gives
you lemons
at the olde
beale street bbq
in augusta maine

Lemonade made
every glass
Handmade

where is
riverfront bbq?

Only blocks from
my house, after
the steps
several brews on
tap most made in
Maine because it's
hard & it's easy
to get away
in Maine
an
equilibrium

muddled indolence/sad advice/

How do you become
a man?
You lie to yourself
and lie to yourself
until your are
made of stone

How do you become
a woman?
Same way

sun is coming

melting snow off rooves
icicles dripping, drip
sun is low, low
melting snow off trees
birds aren't singing
Spring ain't springing
tis the season
there's no reason
sun should stay away
so bright it's blinding
snow is shining
glaring in my eyes
my beard is growing
my mind is slowing
trapped beneath
the snow the sun is melting
rhyming rhyming
lala lala
sun and blinding snow

maybe I should regain

my faith the way
I hang my head over
my plate when I am
finished, it must seem
like I'm praying, my
sighs are, could be,
confused for realizing
or an enlightened
understanding, my
solitude in Maine,
however, can be
confused for nothing
else but a miserable
attempt, a botched
self-improvement
that has lead to
a, my, mental breakdown
not even a good
breakdown, one worth
having, like the
good artists (creeley,
bukowski) have,
my series of
unfortunate events leaves
me able to perform,
sustain like the oily
one-legged pigeon
you kick at out of
disgust, who sadly
hasn't died
pecking, crawling in
half-circles