What will I do with seven billion cubic feet of clouds in my head? I want to be wise and dispense it for quarters. All these push-ups are making me a muscular fatman. Love would make me lean and burning. Love. Sorry the elevator's full. She was zeroed in on by creeps and forgot my meaningful glances from the door. But then I'm walleyed and wear used capes. She was built entirely of makeup, greasepaint all the way through like a billiard ball is a billiard ball beneath its hard skin. We'll have to leave this place in favor of where the sun is cold when seen at all, bones rust, it rains all day. The cat is mine and so is the dog. You take the orchard, house and car and parents. I'm going to Greenland at dawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POOR POLL by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES ODE ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER by JORGE MANRIQUE IMPRESSIONS: LES SILHOUETTES by OSCAR WILDE THE LETTER by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS BEAUTY CRUCIFIED by ANNA SHAW BUCK A LIFE IN THE COUNTRY (STANZAS FOR MUSIC) by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |