Monday, May 18, 2009
Olaf observes a poeyatree reading.
these poeyits are reeding poeums
to a large awedeeince who sit on chairz
in a room wide as an olympic swimming pool.
they listen with their ears to hear,
with their eyes to see, the mouths
to taste the humble poeyatree.
they understood by laffing or knowing nodingly.
but not one utter of their utterance
was complete understand or comprehend.
they spoke honestly of how the whirld
had experienced them. of a dark red
streek of emoshone. of the thoughts that
inhabited their brain.
and o so warm waz the room with the poeyum
the heat of their bodies. and the beer so coaled
on my throat balansed me so with the fizz of its tang.
made some moments delishus.
i like the poeyits and the poeyitesses.
the whole poeyat earth. even the awfil
poeyats. words made completely naive.
i will deafinitely return. i is
simply for the peephole.
and now i awash with golden
grin of stupid happiness am.
for the poeyits are finnished,
and nothing has been said,
the lights are dimmed,
everyone leaves for the door.
i trip up delibrately as i go
because i enjoy mistakes.
i may even
make my own
on that proud stage.