Friday, July 6, 2007

Up

Bummed out
Not inspired
Not impressed
Not making fun
Not having it
Except in single servings

There’s got to be…

What a love
To admit to
Not loving someone
As much as they do you
If you’re that shook up
Then I’ll have mine stirred

I listen to Aesop
Don’t be laughing
Not when there’s nothing
Nothing to laugh at
And I won’t even
I won’t crack a smile

Nope the past is bad as dope
Then you end up
Sobering up with a bottle
And it’s not even an image
Sober, strung out
Halfway to oblivion
It’s no longer an image
Imminent public domain

Words have to be invented
To have any meaning
Meaning has to be invented
To have any weight

Leonard Cohen
Hallelujah
Make your victory march
Make it into a parade

Finding it hard to right
To write anything
That doesn’t have anything
Anything to do with her
And yet a future
Has nothing to do with her

I have nothing left for her
She has nothing left for me
Running on fumess

Smoke and naturally
The next word is plumes
And a rhyme scheme is born
But that’s rather scheming
And sneaky
Don’t you think

Only you’ll care what you think
Only you.

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