Recycle bin
thing growing in my brain this thing this accumulation of flotsam tucked away in the interstices of practical knowledge and deflated dreams this dead end storage of lost hopes unrequited loves broken promises unpaid debts insults dishonored contracts
missed trains and misunderstood words? What is this
You only go around once and there is no delete button
posted by Lane Savant at 10:56 AM
7 Comments:
...or rewind.
Great little write, Lane.
This is stunning ...
achimoxHallo, Lane!
Yes, WHAT IS this object?????
Tschuess,
Anonomann
Hallo, Lane!
What is "achimox"?????? I did not put it into the above "comment"; how did it get there?????
Tschuess,
Anonomann
"this" is your life, swirling like
hornets in your convulsions,
like trying to sleep in grand
central station during the
height of the commute, like
playing jacks on the freeway,
like putting peanut butter on
the roof of your dog's mouth,
syntaxical explosions snapping
like those damn machines in
the matrix, minus Keanu and
decent CGI, like Kerouac being
buggered by Burroughs, like
Bukowski reading Shakespeare,
like a Buttkus poem read by
him and heard by no one,
and I cannot say I love it, though
your intellectual shiftings are
impressive, and I liked the canals
and avenues of light that meandered
through the maze of yesterdays.
Your piece sparked my response,
which in turn sparked my poem
which grew out of my response
and our friendship; quite a
carnival ride before I came to
the last line. This wonderful
moment of having a response
on line that can morph into
a more mature poem is both
fun and fantastic. I appreciate
that over the years you have
pushed me in that direction.
Melva is home today on this
fine MLK day, and we toil
away in our home office,
her on the laptop, and I
on the big Apple at my desk.
Went out to see NARNIA 3,
and enjoyed it immensely
last night, and then it was
dinner with middle daughter,
in her seventh month of
pregnancy at Azteca's.
You surface on FB and on
the web, so I know you are
semi-OK.
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