Right after she fired me
for being the way I was.
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The sound of another man’s apple
Gets between
me and the page
and you and me,
his incisors
breaking the skin,
unfortunately,
and there’s a certain
sloshing
you don’t want to hear.
Not mine
But still, not good.
Earbuds now
serve the one lonely brain,
but we two
were earbuds once,
with two cans and a string
pulled tight in between.
From here it gets tricky
Plum crazy
sounds like
a good crazy to be.
Even W.C.
rejoiced in its juice
in his plum crazy
poetry.
From nothing comes
alumination:
the ball struck
now spinning
to a far outfield
of the mind.
We’re with it going,
going gone.
Till that garden, folks!
No, I don’t let Him get too human
‘Fore you know it He’ll be comin’ in,
settin’ up shop,
puttin’ His feet up
and wantin’ to wash mine.
You first
Utrecht Journal 