Thursday, December 2, 2010

what's there left to laugh about?

hands stuck in clay,
or phoebe bouffay,
rice pudding on your tie,
muffins that can cry,
a serious man on a bench
who falls in a pond and gets drenched,
mysterious eyebrow moves
and a 90 year old's grooves,
a knee cap wearing a mask,
or a head shaped like a flask.
so there comes a time to ask:

what's there left to laugh about?
you. and maybe sauerkraut.

New Poem

---> waiting for the desert <---

dinner started slowly
i just got my phone bill,
i flinched, it was gigantic
i shivered, felt a chill

tried not to think of desert
i took a sip of soup
the small talk seemed to matter
but things went in a loop

t'was i who couldn't listen
I wasn't anymore
my finergnails were crimson
i laughed and mimed a snore

obsessive was this desert
you didn't really count
i quickly drank my beer
the smell was all around

i felt you didn't matter
you tried to prove me wrong,
for me it didn't matter,
the smell was in my lung.

i keep it undercover
it's only i who knows-
i'm dying for this desert
but still the dinner goes

it's on and on, it's deadly
eternity is here
for me, my dear, i worry
i wish you'd let me be.

I've eaten all the courses
I've even eaten stew
It's nonsense how i've waited
My desert, just for you!

I don't believe in standards
i know not any rule
To me it's just my desert
That makes me feel i'm full.