I Shot A Poem

I shot a poem east
With a bit of meat in my teeth
I blew a poem off my finger
And like dust
In the air it lingers
I taunted the birds outside my window
With innuendo
And danced out the nightmare about druids
For a poem about playing pool with a bunch of dudes

I shot a poem to the right
I shot a poem west
To the left
I drove home an idea
Like a nail in a forehead
And I had no idea 
I laughed
Many will write
None will last

I shot a poem at the window pane
A man outside
Was yelling my name
And saying I was complete rubbish
Don’t make me prove myself I mumbled
I’ll do it!
I’ll publish

I shot a poem over the house
It redirected
And killed a little fucking mouse

I shot a poem
Into the neighbors mouth
And he went screaming
In an existential doubt

I shot a poem
Quick like a prick
Into a thicket 
A few likes
For something so wicked?

Worse

Dave:  You’re writing has gotten worse
Jaeger:  What of it?
Dave: Well quit
Jaeger:  How does that help?
Dave:  How does it help to write when you are doing badly.  Do you continue singing one of your songs when you are off?  No, because doing it wrong creates a memory of error.  You don’t want to repeat error”
Jaeger:  I don’t know it that’s correct
Dave:  I do
Jaeger:  You don’t even write
Dave:  Ya but when I do
Jaeger:  What?  It’s better than someone who practices writing?
(Dave sneered and grabbed my face and I hit him as hard as I could and he began bashing my face in with a book about pirates)

I Made It To Heaven

I died for you
I made it to heaven 
And now I write what inspiration comes
From my muse
Who am I and I am one
I made it to a palace 
And I don’t think there is much more to life than this
I am happy
I couldn’t have even invented such a fulfilled wish
And gone
My mind and soul and drives
I see straight
And am alive!

Yellow You

I know you
You surrender
And I do to
Yellow eyes
From being offended
By what others do
Yellow tongue
To eat
Their food
And yellow heart
To do their art
And 
I am yellow too
I know you
You give in
You get walked on
And they talk
On and on
And your yellow thoughts
Rot
In a yellow world
Of no girl
No love
No drive to be much more
Than enough
Yellow dreams
Yellow meanings
Torn pages
Of yellow books
And dirty yellow looks
From yellow crooks
Take the last color left
A yellowing chest
A yellow vest
A yellow soul to go spinning
Turning
Aging
Into a yellow death

Keep Writing

Keep writing
Keep tightening
Soon you will be lightening
Keep poems in sarcastic tones
Under pillows 
And under the weeping willows
Pray
To another day another way another crazy try
To push away the blues that I die
One day
Not today – hopefully
Yet I
Don’t know why
I’m so high on life and don’t want to blow it
That’s why I sound off 
Schizophrenic or “poet”

Dead Man

He looked straight at me
And almost bore a hole in my head with his gaze
I had never heard it put like that
Never heard that particular phrase
And he went on to say that life is what you make
And my stomach
Shriveled up and began to ache
“Make it what?” I said frustrated “why do you speak in enigma?”
And he laughed
And laughed
And long after I could be heard 
Repeating him “the trick is sickness” he had said
And I didn’t hear from him ever again
I assumed he was dead
Fifty reasons
Inside his head

You Say Too Much About The Schizophrenia

You say too much 
About the schizophrenia
About being nuts
About going into mania
About bees in the bonnet
Lights on but no ones home
A few bricks shy 
Not the sharpest tool

You say too much
About the schizophrenia
About the cray cray
About the crazy
About the insane
Madman with lost brain

You say too much 
About the schizophrenia
The delusions
The thought disorder
The pressured speech
Beyond the walls of logic
Out of all reach