Take Thee This Poem and Shoveth It

Sonnet 18 - Bryan Ferry (mp3)
If You Want My Love (live) - Cheap Trick (mp3)

OK, so even if no one remotely felt like responding to my poetry stuff yesterday -- thus proving my entire freakin' point about how close to "DNR" poetry has truly become -- I'm foolish enough to post a poem I wrote over the last couple of hours while also watching Wednesday night's episode of LOST.

It's rough. It just might not only be unimpressive but also unsalvageable. But it's a Friday, and it's the last day I'll ever be 36, and I feel like posting a poem, dammit.


High Chair

We are drooling love-eaters
Love lands on our trays
in bite-sized chunks
Some of it stringy and fibrous
others sweet and plump
We squish love in our fingers
We cram it into our jaws

Can we ever ingest enough
to want down from that chair?
To feel a belly overplump
with the basic nutrients?
Like celery our bodies burn love
calories faster than we devour them

We are often picky
leaving the greens and vitamin-rich
portions untouched to grow stale
banging our dangling feet
against the plastic footrest
the treble shill of objection
our desperate grab for control

Just mewling bottomless pits
who eat love out of house and home

-- January 22, 2009