Say Whaaaa Wednesday... 15 Minute Free write

Always fun to take 15 minutes and just write whatever pops into your head! You'd be surprised with what comes outta the mindless chattering that goes on up in that noggin of yours!

6 Feet Underground Scene

He’s got himself a homemade cigarette /
a nighthawk sitting slumped waiting /
for a dog day tomorrow /
he’s tried it all but it ain’t no use /
he thinks to himself /
“this town only dwells buzzards / whose feathers are a concerning green” /
a nicotine cloud hanging in his memory / offers no direction out /
he’s gonna be burning 6 feet to the underground scene /
where they dress in calico / with crimson blood shot eyes /
time to kill and places not to be /
no one goes there without baggage / wanting a soul to spew their lies /
knowing he’s burned out all his one night stands /
he sighs /
women strangled his heart and scratched out his prays /
keeping his dreams from sneaking up behind him /
pouring out their perfume / with a barrette in their hair /
they slips out as fast as he drinks his bourbon /
tearing the teeth out of the night /
with no thank you card /
the waitress interrupts his reverie / with a sideways glance /
her graveyard eyes punch through his mellow dramatic trench /
with grey strips tearing onto the caffeine soaked floor /
she knows he’s poisoned all his waters / put them in a suite case /
next to his switch blades / the man is no more than a boy /
with a toy pistol shooting nightmares /
he’s been 6 feet underground all along /

Homesick Letter to Beaver Nebraska

Dear Gwendolyn:

All I can think about is your stoned tongue.
The only thing that keeps me away
Is your fathers crocked way
To flood my name
with hallow spit and sparrows blood.
How’s he doin’ anyway?
Last time I check he was busy
writing on infinity, serenity,
and his mothers inability
To forgive his self righteous divinity?
He never was good with words.
You still ridin’ that buggie
that took you the wrong way west?
You know, I love ya gal,
but I swear to lord thundering Jesus, if you do that again,
I’ll slit your throat and collect
the sorrow you bleed.
I know some people
who’ll pay a pretty penny for that.
What the hell were you thinkin’ anyhow?
Perhaps it was the whiskey talkin’
and the blinded love walkin’
before Regret’s concrete fist came a kockin’.
I was never good at rhyming.
I told you; I told ya,
you gotta get outta that wicker pig pen,
It’s walls are too thin
to even screen those dirty deeds performed within;
not enough even to hold a flask of bourbon.
That reminds me,
Do you think your dad would appreciate that?
Before I left, I hid that flask
beneath Mr. Jockey’s bed;
I know he won’t appreciate it though.
Is it possible to be too drunk to be a drunk?
He’ll probably just end up
beatin’ his mail lady with it.
She never gets his address right
or his toupee correctly combed.
GOD DAMN SWINE’S I tell ya!
Anyways, I gotta wrap this up,
finish my drink from this out of order cup
Get outta this diner full of solid smuck;
up against the walls.
I think it may possibly be laced with cyanide?
I guess we’ll see won’t we?
Hey did I tell ya I’m in Readymoney Cove Cornwall UK?
Because that’s kinda important.
Remember your brother still has my 32-29,
which is probably a good thing
because I would be shootin’ you
something,
other then this letter.

Yours truly,
100% HELLbilly and head bound, St. Andy Conda(Formly Kit Kit Weezin’ Foley III)

I Believe I'll dust My Porch

Jenna Reimer
36 Midpark Drive SE
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
T2X 1T2
1-403-542-6625
my shaking hands made it difficult to smoke my cigarette / it seems as if it has never not rained / don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the humidity of your breath when it’s not spittin’ your typical self consciousness amongst this chaos / but the timing is never right you know? / man, I am another soul lost amongst this chaos / my feet stuck in shoes that are three times my weight / didn’t you see me yesterday? / I swore it took me a day and a half to get across town / didn’t even get to purgatory / slower than the comin’ of Christ I tell ya / oh well, what would you care anyways / you know conformity has never been my thing, but my attentive habits seem to swallow my attempts to speak any truth / I work, I breathe, I hate, I lie, I cheat, I steal, I laugh, I cry, I love, I hate, I pity, I try, I forget, I wish, I wonder, I die / I am very afraid of being alone, or hung from a tree next to the president of The United States / the meaning of our deaths as different as the price paid for them / you get where I’m comin’ from? / I accept it all, but I don’t know whether it all accepts me / I know they’re afraid too man, afraid of the war, the cults, the germs, their wellbeing, their groceries, the environment, their neighbors / but I believe it all falls together / whether its in the right or wrong place it don’t matter, the grass will blow east anyways / security, failure, success, democracy, responsibility mean fuck all / and I don’t want nothin’ to do with any of it / what needs to be known has already been said / I could tell you right now the people who have questioned the right things and wrote the right books / who understand / but their all dead and the world didn’t stop because of it right? / we will all end up crawling through those seven sided wheat fields, unsure as to whether we have just been going in circles / but I was following you? /