Okay you caught me.
My form isn’t typical.
I’m not an iambic-centric
wannabe Shakespeare in a box.
My poetic rigmarole,
though sloppy as wasted alcoholic fever,
is composed of entirely (mostly) original parts.
Kind of like sunshine when it hurts,
or truth in a church,
or absolutes in the earth,
or mirth in a world-shaped
dearth of confusion.
something worth remembering;
cigarette smoke ecstasy;
don’t let these words live as just
a temporal revelry.
We’re rock n’ rollers
trying to make a name for ourselves
in a city-scape
intent on rectangular skyscrapers
and de-bugged, pristine, computers
I may be a virus in your hard drive,
but you needed to replace
that Vista crap