46th week of Poetry

September 11

Wake me up

when September


And when


rightfully begins.


September 12







September 13


A swerving car

screeches down the highway

A highway

Any highway

Every highway

Over these continental United States

Lonely hitchhikers stare stranded at bars

Festering outside strange, decrepit motels

Hotels pass by like growing tomatoes in the harsh sunlight

Buy one, get one free options

401k bank credit rating scores

Bank credit rating scores







Onto the highway

Sores all over the hills

What once were trees are now just

Chunks of an old age

Chipped up, scratched up, Chopped up,

Everything but grown at the same rate

Farms? What are farms?
The boiling highway road gives way at the rate

that damn car is going

I’ve never been good with cars

Ford? Pontiac? Lamborghini? Volvo?


Just know, that car is ripping up the road

Concrete cannot stand it

America cannot stand it


What are you, anyway?

A nation for liberty and justice and the pursuit of the American Whatever Whatyoucallit

Or is it just a nation of car salesmen screaming “Bon Voyage!” out at distant cars

peeling down and all over a nation of highways?

All I know is this:

I still don’t know what makes car models so special

And that’s why the American Daydream is just a hallucination from

too many people taking

too many catnaps







September 14


Chael Sonnen


are you?


September 15


How do I waste so much money?

I wasn’t born rich?

Do I not have self-control?

Hmm, will ruminate on this while I’m on eBay and Amazon and Better World Books

and Gamestop

and Itunes

and Books and Books.

Yeah, I guess that’ll help.



September 16



to Everyone


going Home


September 17


What to compare thee? To a summer’s day?

Nay, nay, nay to this old English: I can’t do it, okay?

Okay. Okay. A funny word, that one: Okay.

What does it mean? Who came up with it? One word for all feelings?

Did they find it out in a week? A month? A year? A millennium? A day?

All I know is that I’m as Lost as the TV show Lost: I’m stuck here with all other human beings.

A twat is a twit is a twot is a twit is a twot  is a twat is a so and so and a twaughthammer, as well

And all of this is useless and droll, and I guess dull: what rhymes with dull? Who came up with it, in the first place?

I’m so happy and charming and kind as can be and yes I know I’m trying too hard and no, I won’t ring your bell

Or knock on your door and sweep you off your feet, no thanks and goodbye. I don’t need it. I just want space.

Space from everyone

Space from everything

Space from anyone

Space from anything

So, here’s to you people, who never let me down:

Here’s to all of you, and to many more, from your humble clown.



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