(with some phrases by you alls)
The verklempt wilderness
doesn’t love you back.
It just sits and spins
in beluga leviathan whorls.
You put your face to the ground,
you want to write a poem,
but its palooka voice whispers,
“You should become a plumber.”
The verklempt wilderness
reeks of fried Zippo lighter,
and stale child-self drool perfume.
It sings its own meh mindsong — loud.
It cuts a buck-and-wing sideways,
struts off down the fork,
but before it disappears, it says,
“Never a plumber, Mr. Bungle, always just
a chud.”
Verkers of the verld unite!
Summa meh!
Magma cum meh!
Collective meh! Woof, I love this one
My next poem’s going to be called “Collective Meh”
Yesssss
hahaha — you should send it to Fran Lebowitz!
Ha-ha! I’m too afraid she’d actually respond.
I celebrate all chugs!