Wednesday, October 17, 2007

new small things

To My Old English Teacher

I relish the thought of my attempted anarchy
in your 7th period class. You threw me
out but the teachers who passed me in the
hall talked shit about you. You who
could never be believed to sport an Oscar
Meyer weenie whistle. Your dead husband was a
constant threat to our silent classroom.
It was like you were older than us in
more ways than one.


To The FM Frequency 107.5

Sometimes I can feel you
moving in me. Sometimes
I can feel you moving in
me. Sometimes I can feel
you moving in me. Some
times I can feel you mov
ing in me. Sometimes I
can feel you moving in m
e. Sometimes I can feel y
ou moving in me. Somet
imes I can feel you mov
ing in me. Sometimes I c
an feel you moving in me.


To The Contrails That Jets Leave

I made a MySpace profile for your
wispiness. Your status is "out and about."
And I was thinking about the beats when I
chose the password so the password is bop678.
Mainly, it's a monument to your fleetingness
that has everything to do with controversy. I
would be so sad and deceived to find that you
were a government conspiracy. I would miss
those long rides staring at the No Smoking
light dreaming of the white lines we drew
behind us. A jet, after all, is only as good
as the distance it covers.


To Well Drillers

It's not good enough to just dig in the mountain.
You have to start somewhere how 'bout the top
of the pile. I witched it on Sunday it's right about
there. I walked along until my eyebrows furrowed
and then I said "Here is where water is." At the bar
no one sits next to a water witcher. We had one
come to our class in 6th grade. We all got bent
coat hangers and we walked around the playground
witching water. Some of us just sword fought with
them until the yard duty blew her whistle at us.
I guess what I'm trying to say is go deep enough
so the water will come out at a good rate please.


To The Base(ball)board Heaters Of My Dreams

I jumped at the hum. Our dear drum
tags wanna whine in the sagging cold. It
is your short daisy dander on the hot met
al surface that smells like burning dust. O
can a darned pesky runner on third base
undercut my namesake? My cable base?
Goodbye another one. Goodbye another
one. You are in danger of finding a big
big hole and finally here comes the dust.
We are in danger of finding our polemic
"Nanner nanner" and you are in danger
of us burning down your saggy landmark.
You are choosing wherever you live
and your Hillary Care plan. You walked
into the cave and radioed "Yes! a leading
figure in modern times!"

1 comment:

jess said...

I like these a lot.