The Dream

I’m eating something that once

called the ocean its home with a fork

and a pair of orange handled needle-nose pliers .

She’s talking about the dead soldier kids

the paperboy keeps tossing on our lawn.

A red bird sits on the statue outside,

singing a blue song, but it sounds

more like white noise in the mix down.

I look at the angry microwave clock,

and realize that it’s time to make a decision:

Should I stay sober and try to get her

out of that hideous green bathrobe,

and into some kind of after-dinner kink,

or should I drink until I can’t feel myself

imploding? Hell, Maybe I’ll do both.

God it’s sexy being free! As I break up

a bag of scentless dry brown pot, and twist

open the first cheap beer of the day, I know

I’m really living the American dream.

The f*****g wonder never ceases!

Reviews

[Kenneth The Poet]

Welcome to Americana, as that one guy from that one band said on that one album.

[Pretty Faces Split Open]

This is great, the bland truth of the facade of daily life. I love
"Should I stay sober and try to get her
out of that hideous green bathrobe,
and into some kind of after-dinner kink,
or should I drink until I can’t feel myself
imploding?"

[_mal]

Very clear and cool, strong voice. I'd like it better if you dropped the last line but either way you consistently write some of the best most perceptive poetry here

[Ed Hart]

explosive

[Kerry O'Connor]

Just so excellent in concept and execution (and I use that word deliberately).

[Robin]

if yer not gonna take that flag down , you make sure you keep a light on it ..

[MuSe Ampoule]

Dripping. Love it!!

"She’s talking about the dead soldier kids
the paperboy keeps tossing on our lawn." The image this sparked, quite remarkable.