pshaw!

my head is all clammy and closed off
i think it stilted senctences
and breathe from my mouth
my hands are freezing,
my feet too hot,
and i think i have a cold.

i like imaigining where i'd be
if i were at school today.
is it fourth period yet?
or am i still in child dev.,
learning about the reproductive cycle?
what did i miss at lunch,
what clever jokes could i have made,
which now must flow through and out my mind
untill another day,
perhaps tomorrow,
when i shall go to school.

my phone is dead
and i feel like someone has cut off my hand
my right hand, no less, leaving me
only the dirty left.
what time is it:? i don't know.
what am i supposed to do today?
i don't know.
i hate this life.

bad poetry two: versus the snow monster of tibet

i have made a decision.
it is rather like a pickle.
crisp, fresh, brined with brilliance.
and delicious in my mouth.
here is to decisions and pickles,
the stuffs of the good life.

every time i make a decision that means something--
something that will change me, for the best,
i feel like a phoenix, bursting forth from ashes, old,
into a chirping naked chick, new,
and like this metaphor, my decision may be cliche
but it means something to me.

i love you jennith.
i do, i do.
this poem is narcisstic
and so are you.

ooooh you rogue, bad poetry!

people are silly
that's the great secret of mankind.
who needs relgion, who needs philosophy
i've figured it out,
and i'm offering it free on myspace:
people are silly.

i'm a bubble of delight again,
a ball of cotton fluff,
sneezing with distaste at my own glee
smiling and giggling at another's smile.
i've been fixed, finally,
and, no, he doesn't look a thing like jesus.