2007 Ode To Mucus - Apparently I deal with illness by writing it love poems.

In the morning before i look in the mirror
I'm waiting, wondering when you'll appear
But then it's there, the time is right
I can feel your presence before i turn on the light

I sit up in bed my breath grows shallow
Throat constricted I can hardly swallow
My lungs are tight i rasp and wheeze
But then you're there and i can barely breath

Mucus, Mucus every day
You know you take my breath away
Mucus Mucus every night
You know your timing just ain't right

Gag and cough each time I sneeze
I have fever of 100 degrees
You hold my lungs in your iron grip
My body aches from head to hip

Why oh why don't  you  back off?
Why do you have to make me cough?
With each and every  mucus bubble
My hate for you grows double

Mucus, Mucus every day
You know you take my breath away
Mucus Mucus every night
You know your timing just ain't right

I wish you'd put my mind at ease
So I will not be diseased
Now it's time you have to go
Why you stayed I'll never know

You must go and not come back
You make me feel like I'm on crack
Branch out and find somebody new
Cause I'm not the one for you.

No I'm not the one for youMucus, Mucus every day
You know you take my breath away
Mucus Mucus every night
You know your timing just ain't right

No I'm not the one for you

Argh

Asshole, oh my soul,  i'll have you know i need instant gratification.   Omniscient would be nice, but there is a cost to knowing everything.  My weekly wilted,  life's a bit tilted and I really need to pee.

The meaning of life

It would be great to write something really Kerouacesk about how we need to enjoy the journey and take life one day at a time. Make our own clothes and live off the land, enjoy just being. that sounds like a way better answer then not being tied to the end result of any given situation.  Am I truly just in this for the outcomes?  Taking the MAX? yes. Watching a movie? No. It varies. somethings are about the result some things are about the journey.  I tend to be results driven,  maybe it's just a way to justify my own actions. Who knows.  I think it feels like I should put my energy into being a better person.  This made more sense when i was riding the MAX.

Wicks and stick and sealing wax, cabbages and kings

I hurt my toe carrying down a piece of plywood, that still isn't as good at a box spring. damn it Jim. I'm a man not a machine, except that I'm a woman. hear me roar. take that tiger. I'm not used to heavy lifting. I've been spoiled. I'm not handy. Not in the least.  I do not have a mechanical mind. Maybe body mechanics. I like that.  I like knowing how your brain works and chemical reactions.  Some chemical reactions more then others. Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more. Man I love Monty Python.  Yet I digress.  I'm too pretty to do manual labor. At least that's what I keep telling myself and I think that my mom would agree with me. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.  But not around my mom, she might just do it.  She smokes a corn cob pipe, that's how she gave up cigarettes.  How many other people can say their mom smokes a corn cob pipe? huh? huh? Bueller? Bueller? Exactly.  But as I was saying, I'm not a wilting flower, but I can't complain about the previous system of oil changes and  handiness that was allocated in my favor.  I don't want to be spoiled or dependent, that sounds pretty lame.  I'm pretty crafty.......but handy, that's a different story.

Faux

Botox, detox,cement blocks.. Everybody get up on your box and scream as loud as you can. Driving and striving to make sure you’re the only voice that’s heard. We’re all rugged individuals, trying to pay the heating bills, get up every body and be.




 I might actually seek out a beat for this one.

Ode to Spring Fever

Roses are red
Spring is my rhyme
Good thing it’s March
Or it’d be the wrong time.
You can tell by the way
Some people get antsy
How their thoughts of “like”
Now turn to fancy.
But it’s not for naught
It’s just part of the order
Men get more chivalrous
Short skirts will get shorter
But it’s all sadly false
There’s cold to be had
Your bones will still ache
Just ask your dad.
He watches the weather
And calls to give word
It’s snowing in Alaska
Haven’t you heard?
But pay no attention
To that mere distraction
We’re talking of Spring time
Lust and attraction.
Remember back when
“They” caught your eye
You thought it was love,
But it’s really a stye.
How you long for a fix
A treatment, a cure!
Some secret weapon
To use as a lure.
Please just be patient
Don’t start your groanin
Remember how Leno
Won over Connan?
Now that’s a sad story
A very sad song
Much like your grandma
Dressed in a thong.
So back to my point
This Spring Fever pickle
Love is quite strange, threatening and fickle
So when it comes time
And you are all flustered
Just remember the seasons
And please pass the mustard.

Repression

I need a little release, but can’t seem to find the grease that will make the words flow and put digression to my repression so the roses aren’t red. That’s just a clever endeavor to put words on page, not subside the rage, that keeps me out of fine print. I don’t know where to begin. With original sin? Or just the context of this present perversion? I’ve got the words to retort, but can’t seem to pop the cork that releases my inner word smith.