Yesterday was Run Around With Scary William And Write Silly Things Day. We started with the Mad Libs and ended up in Coliseum Square writing haikus.
Oh look, here come some now!
The sun beats softly
on the park. So, so, so so, soft—
Soft like this dog shit.
Go climb that oak tree.
Oh my. You have fallen out.
Enough of that, then.
See that nasty bird?
That bluejay just swooped down there.
He ate my pickle.
Scurry, tiny rat!
Miniature Doberman dog!
Why the big rush?
Speckled quadruped.
Now that’s a country hound dog!
His master shows box.
Healthy and cleansing,
A copacetic park day.
Light me a fag, dear.
Sweet mother nature—
All things bright and beautiful.
(Fucking mosquitos!)
My onion rings are cold
The Cox man is a Nazi.
Is this all a plot?
Friendly faces smile,
Exchanging pleasant words: “Please,
Don’t take my wallet.”
Lying in the park,
No place better. I wonder—
What's on the telley?
Yippy, yappy dog,
Pissing on that old street lamp.
Watch out for the Dodge.
Picnic in the park.
Ants crawl across my cheeseburger.
Would you like a bite?
Take a photograph
of me pissing on the tree.
Whatchoo lookin’ at?
I could recline here
in this park forever. Wait!
Something bit my ass!
Brown grass, balding lawn,
Filthy pigeons strut. I think—
This ain’t New Jersey.
Coliseum Park,
Saturday, Two-Fifty-Five
The scene is set, eh?
See that bent oak tree?
It reminds me of my mom,
Hung from too much Scotch.
I see that bent oak.
It’s standing in front of me.
D’ya think I was blind?
Garbage bag artwork.
Fry, cold rings and Camel butt.
Still life in the park.
Bucolic and green.
It’s good to be outside now
With my PowerBook.
Wildlife abounds here.
Pigeons swooped down on that squirrel
Pecking at his nuts.
“Tweet, tweet,” say the birds,
“Tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet!”
SHUT UP ALREADY!
Pigeons, pigeons, ick!
Molting rodents of the sky,
Don’t poop on my head.
I’ve got a bad itch!
Like a bug in my undies!
Can we go home now?
Christ, look at them all!
Gathering for a french fry.
Let’s throw another.
Come, lovely pigeons!
(I feel like Tippy Headroom.
It’s unnerving me.)
What else can we throw
At the birds that can’t discern
What’s food and what’s not?
Want to feed the birds?
Seed is tuppence for a bag.
Poison is extra.
We’ve written haikus
For nearly half an hour.
My god, but we’re lame!
(Later, at the Half Moon Bar…)
Dueces are wild.
Yah, feral and hard to catch.
Wild’s the right word. |
“DJ, SAVE my life!” TODAY: Dedicated to Badjuju, welcome back to America, sweetheart! — David Rose: “The Stripper” (1.7 MB) (ARCHIVES)
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