"The Hornet's Vanity" (and three other poems)

11


The Hornet’s Vanity

Ev’
poet,
ev’
writer,
ev’
singer,
ev’
artist,
has an immortality box—,
one as big as their coffin.
Here is where they lay-way
their past, present, for the
future…;
after they’re gone.
After the aspiration bird
has flew the cope, and they died,
(left them to rot as maggots
in there sarcophagus).

Even after death the:
poet,
writer,
singer,
and artist,
want to fly into the hands
of the mortal living
(dive like an eagle).

He dreams he is painted
on the walls of caves
(not yet discovered);
painted on canvas,
written in a book,
detailed in a poem,
made into a statue,
itched on street signs,
when in essence,
he’ll never know;
oh, yes, he wants to be
on coins also, and stamps
(like kings and presidents)—;
and he hopes to change
the world before he dies,
he wants to be known
that he came, he was,
once alive.

Where in the world
did he get such a notion?
Perhaps the bird is not
a bird…but a hornet
with big wings,
and a big silent sting!


#2294 (2-28-2008)
Written today at Starbucks, in Circle
In Lima, Peru (300 PM)


12


Lazy Boy


A lazy boy is like a hand full of dung,
the longer you hold on it, the more it
smells; the more it smells, the more
people end up looking at you, as if its
yours.

#2296 (2-28-2008)



13



Madness

My madness is under my scalp—;
if I had a wig, I’d have no trouble
getting rid of it….
I thought about laying in the snow
and freezing my madness:
and my wife said that was, “Insane…!”

O, I am empty for any more ideas,
witless, clueless!
Meanwhile, I simply endure, —
and point my finger, middle finger,
every which way.


#2295 (2-28-2008)

14

When I’m Dead

When I’m dead I’ll ask the Lord
if I can come back for a spell,
to make sure my wife, Rosa
is well…and I’m sure
He’ll say yes; and
to let her know,
she can go
on with
life…
I’ll see her later
beyond the tunnel's light.


#2297 ((11:30 PM)(2-28-2008))
Written at home, in Lima Peru, 11:30 PM

Part of the: "The Drooled and Slobbering Poems"