morning fog

dinged up satellite ears

fall from their decaying

musical orbit 

 

awkwardly

like shaven donkeys

dropped from an airliner

 

still reaching wildly

for that last naked dream

 

wake up to the sound

of time growling

 

strange and lovely dogs

are happily defiling

my crunchy green lawn

 

I own a gun but it’s locked up

inside of my metal conscience

 

so, I toss an M-80

from the kitchen window

into their mischievous heaven

 

watch the mangy angels

scatter like confused mental

patients on fire drill

 

then, I hit the snooze button

and crawl back into my designer grave

 

confident that the world

will probably not end

until sometime after noon

 

information from my clandestine

internet advisors says:

 

the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse

went drinking last night

with the 3 wise men

and the 7 dwarves

 

I'm sure the entire frat house

of Alpha Omega is a hangover

morgue this morning

 

so, I know I’ll be able to get some

purifying rest before my early evening

therapy session with Dr. Christ

 

it's easier to quit worrying

once you've accepted

that overall doom is inevitable 

Reviews

[roarke]

that's one way to look at it. hahahhahahaha
wry, twisted, hell-bent..... yep, sounds like you.

Still don't know why you poets put things in stanza's..... quirky folk.

liked all of this immensely. Fine stuff.