7 & 7 Is Calling

The only thing I can say about the movie Crazy Heart is that it inspired me to Google two of my half siblings to see if there was a recent obituary for either one of them. My tone if very matter of fact here. Their untimely demise is no longer tragic to me, it is expected just like I expect the timing belt on my 2000 Honda to expire any day as well.

The truly sad apart about this, other than having hurtful drunks in my family with whom I refuse to speak to ever again, is the fact that I don't even know what name they go by these days to find them.

Oh well. I am truthfully better off not knowing. I found this old poem written maybe in 2000 about one of them.

7 & 7 Is Calling

It is a solo act
practiced until he passes out,
his liver shuts down,
or the local police
pull the curtain down.

It is after 2AM and
the audience is hushed.

In fact I WAS sleeping.

It is 7 & 7 calling
ready to take
center
stage.

Great Things Can Come in Small Packages

Sleeping Beauty

The Opposite of a Black Hole

Mixed Crowd

Freedom Is Something Else

A beast on a wee leash,

conversations with you

had a limited radius

and around we would go

in shamefully small circles,

never gaining any real territory.

Thankfully there is

no longer an owner,

a chain,

or a fence

to limit me from stretching

out

in any direction

I please.

New Spam Poetry

This spam email came in over the holidays. So good!

El Between (the relation of Coop)

Tall chimneys,
their pennons of black smoke,
their uglinesses of brick-work,
and their heaps of refuse matter
from the furnace,
seems to be the only kind of stuff
which Nature cannot take back to herself
and resolve into the elements,
when man has thrown it aside.

These hillocks of waste and
effete mineral always disfigure
the neighborhood of ironmo