I've been to More moist urinals Than true Teary funerals Come to Think of it You Can't take a shit Successfully In that device Designed for pee Such a price For plumbing To try Discriminating In favor of the fly Yet I’m in no rush Nor would pretend For some final flush To be my end
Author: T.M. Shorewick
Climbing Up
Climbing up in Youth Stumbling down In dotage Feels The same Aims uncertain Ends unknown But this Similarity Bears a parity In locality Of finality One peers Behind a shoulder The latter Finds fears Dropping colder Forsooth Let’s let it all begin
Creepy Reality
It dawned to me Being in a hall Filled with music Like subcomming In a chapel Are ultimately Identical reality No, not emotion Nor some specific Method Or translation But a reality That cannot creep Into our stupor so deep
20,000 Years Nigh
20,000 years nigh The keyboard Elicited a sigh An abacus, toward Solutions In both math and language Linguistic revolutions Needing external storage To compete With paper An indiscreet Digital diaper Ah so we know Entries By the toe Proliferated centuries Ago
Ode to Ferde Grofé
Ode to Ferde Grofé When a name Echos more than sound Fame Must rise from the ground Not loose sand Man you gotta dig Suites planned Transcendent gig It's not lawful To obey the past Becoming awful Awfully fast Yet picking pizzazz Jumped Mixing all that jazz Futures coolly lumped
Time and Life
Time and life Just not real A spark Lasts longer
She Bluntly Said Can You Teach in a Nunnery
She bluntly said Can you teach in a Nunnery Dangerous gunnery Surprised No longer disguised Their ideas Like spears Pierced Me in a way weird That no armory Could salvage me I orated Over reception granted Thinking what tha No longer afraid
Nova Scotia
It is said That Nova Scotia Harbors a broken land Near sand Of oceanica Adorned in plaid Terrain, lands Not flat Borough halls A king’s county calls Knowing that Their share is also Brooklyn’s
Musician
There is an eternal condition They are a musician Each and all Over life’s space Quite fluent With all not just Themselves From gritty elves Even those now dust Instinctive to life spent Less any verbal trace Music to them a call From the ultimate magician All subject to masterful perdition
Face it, Life is Spectral
Life is spectral facing eternal dithering