Wednesday, November 02, 2016

Morning Poem 380

fuck me that turnip is going to be president
of this shit
I am listening to Chet Baker just trying stay sane
tranquilize me Chet just enfold me
a little, in your gentleness
as if to say ‘Thomas,
you may be wrong about this’

Chet plays it cool
‘My Funny Valentine’ is sad
and cool on my forehead

maybe the fucking turnip
will be cool
maybe my head will make the
adjustment, the necessary reversion
to how things obtained

in my fascist years
(thanks, old friend,
for sticking with me through my fascist years)
when I too was a bloated, ignorant bitch-boy
who felt free, and happy just
to rock, to barf, to kill
in the metropolis

Chet you toothless junkie
get me out of this