Watching Mad Men on Palm Sunday

I am resolved to not be the main character in every piece I write. Here is my first attempt at bucking that trend.

The Money Keeper

going through life as the
antagonist in every play
is no way to live
but here i am

a pinball
being
flung and batted
and bumped

only controlling the fact
that i do indeed exist
knowing this story
will end

whether i want it to or not

ill be talked about
until sound no longer
exists

isnt that the idea?
to be remembered?

Inspired by Insomnia

Last night I dreamed I ate my pillow. In the morning my ten pound marshmallow was gone.

In Defense of Hyperbole

I often dream of my
wikipedia page. Which will
undoubtedly say something vague
and pretentious like,
"While he began calling himself
a writer at the age of twenty three,
he never read or wrote anything substantial
until long after his death
at the age of ninety six.

"He is survived by his wives,
each more glamorous and pretentious
than the previous, and his dog,
Franklin Fitzgerald Kane, also a
writer, and his nine children,
each of whom star on the reigning
NBA champion, and pilot space vehicles in
their collective spare time."

I wake up with a smile
(Nine kids, any Catholic would!)
mostly at worlds of possibility.

Requests

It's gimmicky, but whatevs...

A Like Poem

Liking
To Be
Liked.
Like liking.
Liking liking.
REALLY liking,
And liked.
Simply
enjoying being
liked. And, you know...

It's nice.
Liking
and being liked.