Poem #74

Is
Down a widow pancake amended with MRI magnetron particles?
On for the show, less a widow more a black window?

Or should we churn the flow of impotent chaos ie chaise lounge chairs of inactivity dooming us all.

I dreamed of Edward Hopper sketching a pirate to enter grad school. his handling of the hair was a little naive.

Plunder our own flu shot caches, nothing left to protect against this common cold.
Drive as if the bank is on the repo, make chances, this is what should be but is only seen in superhero tv shows.
I always feel for those vertigo villains, anyway.

Whose wifi is I think I know,
His car is at the grocery tho.
He will not see me stopping by,
To watch some porno in the snow,
while corporate hackers steal the rest, leaving loot chests filled with death.

I have finally
Down for good I thinks, fiended,
using too many adjectives to describe an Unwinnable war,
too few stanzas with optimist prime.

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Poem 73

An echo of my gasping breath came back from the canyon up ahead where the last hour of my life is waiting.
I think it was an E minor, or perhaps I am tone deaf and ken not the alphabet of sonic vibration.

A fudge sickle waiting on a bookshelf for me to come back from reading spoon river has been melted by the echo, ruining pages in a monogram of milk carton collages.
Well, I guess I should have gone in for the ice cream sandwich.

Rapid fire fears erased the daydream of motor biking through an autumn evening down a smooth street devoid of cars.
The echo awakened something enormous in the back left corner where my pedestal bearing god used to give me comfort.
And finally we confront ourselves in elevators going up and coming down, waiting to board and straining to disembark, listening and hoping it was the squeaking of the cables up above.