the platitudes of willful resemblance

So, I haven’t posted in a while… So What?

I have no skin, but a basketful of protections from the sun and I am waiting for the coffee to brew at 4:43 pm. What I have in my cup is cold and coffee isn’t meant to be enjoyed cold – no matter what you or your fancy coffee iced lattes think. For coffee to be anygood cold it has to be brewed with a double batch of grounds and served over ice – even then I cannot stand it but normal coffee ice cold is no good, damn you and your alternate opinions. This is where the advantage goes to tea – I pour a hot cup of tea and drink some, forgetting about it for awhile and when I return to it it has become cold as forgotten things do – but I can drink it regardless of this as tea can be served hot or cold at the same strength.

advantage: Tea – but I enjoy coffee more and it is why I smoke now – to further enhance the coffee experience out in my garage where there is no organization but an ashtray and my motorcycle. Also a BB Gun to shoot raccoons in the ass when they get too friendly.

I just finished a Novel where one of the secondary characters suffers the same mental aberration as I and as where I can normally identify with my characters like this I found this character to be a reflection of popular symptoms and not reality – or his mental depravity was too close to home and I divorced my mental aspect from his. In the end the book wasn’t very good and failed to live up to the promise that the authors previous work had made. Now I am rereading “Dream Songs” by the one and only, John Berryman. This is never a let down no matter how many times I read them.

coffee, cigarettes and waiting

I am staring at this black piece of paper

with four poems waiting to be written;

drinking coffee but

wonting for something else entirely.

my ears are dirty with grime

and later I’ll shower.

right now I am not adjacent to godliness

but God doesn’t drink coffee

or smoke endless cigarettes turning on the next line.

my poetry isn’t in vogue at present

and I cannot support what is.

Bukowski imitators.

and I am going gray;

easily depressed by these rejections,

waiting for more coffee to brew

so I can kill myself

with these several cigarettes

or maybe a gun.

– Hoc Scripsi