i slipped from story books with pictures
into tv without a burp;
from leprechauns and bean stalks to
acme inc. and tasmanian devil.
there were no poets except the silly
“where the sidewalk ends”
but then there were drunks with red cherub cheeks
reading strange verse
spreading joy to everyone at the bar.
they wore a strange, hidden smile about all of this existence.
i’m too pissed off to be a poet.
maybe i should be a pitcher.
*for more on sparring,
broken bats baseball on
the pitcher as trickster
still the jungle 
I’m screaming at the coyote – “If your credit’s so good you can order Acme rocket skates, for Pete’s sake send out for a pizza!”
LMSAO
i think coyote was on the wrong side of his-story,
but there’s bound to be a howard zinn version of looney tunes somewhere.
Tha’s funny….. I always thought you weren’t quite pissed off enough. Hmmm…. Ginsbergian theory always does this to me.
yeh, that too.
Well, I think your pretty good at this poetry thing. Great even. Super awesome even. And so on.
the definition tied me up, but then i escaped, for now anyway. thanks for the kudos!