Whose phone is this
That disturbs my rest,
Who informs its master
By beeping?
Its constant noise
Does so make me stressed
For one minute ago
I was sleeping.
This, this
Is the white guy’s phone
Which disturbs your sleep
Via default tone.
This guy
Will be lain to rest
At the mortuary of Saint Mary.
I don’t mind your desire for completeness,
Your accuracy is sublime,
But couldn’t we just sing “et cetera”
And save ourselves trouble and time?
I love you
Like a child loves an airplane
Like that Facebook friend
Loves someone you’ll never meet
Like the drunk guy at the bar
Loves “it man!”
Like the certified pre-owned vehicle consultant
Knows you’ll love this one specific car
I live you very verbally
In a way that’s oft disturbing
That’s measured in mega-decibels
And prevents a good night’s sleep
So I thought with this confession
I’d better introduce myself
So that you wouldn’t mistake me
As just a random stranger/creep.
I’m a lonely little elf
In the presence of myself.
The solitude, it hurts my head.
I just wish I’d stop talking and go to bed.
Regarding amount of wood
Chucked by a woodchuck:
I’ll make the suggestion
That it increases greatly
When in the presence
Of someone asking that stupid question.
No, you didn’t miss yesterday’s poem. There wasn’t one. Well, OK, there was, but WordPress decided you would enjoy it more if it wasn’t made public. Here’s my sarcastic apology/today’s poem.
Since I made a promise
To write a poem a day
Nothing really has gone wrong,
That is ’til yesterday.
The Internet betrayed me
By publishing locally,
And so my broken promise
Was not the fault of me.
I’m apologizing.
This is the way things go.
Maybe I’ll fix it in the future
With a wall paid for by Mexico?
My email got hacked today.
I don’t know who did it.
When I found out it happened
I sort of lost my… Ya know.
I’m going to change my password now
But if you see a post
That’s a poem you disapprove of,
It wasn’t me. It was a ghost.
Tuesday night at 10:05
She texted “are you up?”
Tuesday night at 10:16
I cleverly sent back “yup.”
Wednesday morning, 4:08
She wrote me back “me too.”
I heard she found a new “BF,”
And I honestly pity the foo’.
Do you have
A song in your head
That makes you wish
That you were dead.
I’ve got medicine
To make that song come unfurled.
“It’s The Final Countdown.”
You’re welcome,
-The World
Have you ever made a comment
On a Facebook post and seen
It explode into the biggest thing
Since someone refried a bean?
For the next ten days your inbox
Says a bunch of strangers think
It’ll be fantastic
(Except Manuel, who wants it to stink).
You try to send it all to spam.
You turn notifications off,
But the post keeps drawing comment
And the Universe does scoff.
You know it won’t be ending soon,
And all you can do is wait.
I commented on a post like that.
In fact, I did on eight…
The Daily Travesty