Tim Donnelly, 7/11

The Year It Rained All Year

I read King Lear to the
profoundly disabled. It took
a week. That’s how they
knew I was mad.

Commercial radio featured
sad junkies and angry junkies.
Sponsored by auto insurance
and the diamond business.

The boy downstairs was 21.
He asked me repeatedly not to
stare at him and sigh.
Though he liked me close by.

My boss was a moulting spider.
I dated a speed freak who was perfect
in every other way.
The hallway smelled of pee.

The answer to any grievance was “El Nino”.
The baby squalls and her tears
wash the air crystalline.
Sight and smell are sharpened.

A Rocken Little Pop Song

poem as fable,  poem as dream
poem as aspirin  poem as prayer
poem as heroin  poem as window cleaner
poem as spell  poem as pacifier
poem as seashells she sells by the seashore
poem as spunk spit & scent glands
poem as lullaby  poem as spare change

poem as snapshot
postcard to earth
poem as toejam
yeah man

poem as primary text
poem as a metaphor for watching TV
poem as a sound in the pipes when you’re home
alone at night

poem as stone
lullaby dream prayer
poem as battle cry
remember what you forgot
poem as now
no now
no now

Promote. Poetry.
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