Cool Tzara! Did you say you are scheduling fifty? damn man, thirty is hard enough, you are very ambitious.
maybe we can hook up our spouces and write until we drop
night!
oh wait.
I think you just hurled a rock at me?
damn! that was not how I imagined going down....good thing about poetry is that it never actually kills you....always leaves a glass of water and a towel sometimes an astrolabe or a barometer when feeling ironic.
sometimes poetry is a stone caught in a hubcap
wont shut up no matter how fast you drive it just keeps on coming
down the road to Bedlam.
maybe we can hook up our spouces and write until we drop
night!
oh wait.
I think you just hurled a rock at me?
damn! that was not how I imagined going down....good thing about poetry is that it never actually kills you....always leaves a glass of water and a towel sometimes an astrolabe or a barometer when feeling ironic.
sometimes poetry is a stone caught in a hubcap
wont shut up no matter how fast you drive it just keeps on coming
down the road to Bedlam.
Tzara said:I will probably regret this. My forward looking schedule is iffy. The daily regimen of poem, poem, poem, poem, poem is, at best, tiring. At its worst, it could break up my marriage.
Well, maybe that is an exaggeration. But anyway, here goes:
Lottery
My slip was not picked.
Nor any my kin.
Strike the drum. Someone
else's time has come.
My soap's on at ten.
So give me a rock.
Let's begin.