The Triolet Trail

pleasure: when my cat died
it was summer and I was sixteen;
caught kissing Tommy and I cried to hide
pleasure, when my cat died.

other things, he often tried
when he had the chance, and in between;
pleasure, when my cat died,
it was summer and I was sixteen.

It was summer and I was sixteen;
not an excuse but it's all that I got.
Me and my girl, name of Samatha Jean--
It was summer and I was sixteen,
packing a piece if you know what I mean.
Sammy got mouthy so Sammy got shot.
It was summer and I was sixteen.
Not an excuse but it's all that I got.

Not an excuse, but it's all that I got
in my left pocket. I'm checking the right.
I need a drink. I would give my left nut.
Not an excuse but it's all that I got.
Life could be better, but better than what?
Back in the ring I'd put up a good fight.
Not an excuse, but it's all that I got
in my left pocket, I'm checking the right. . .

in my left pocket, I'm checking the right...
my name was nowhere to be found;
so another night of trash, my usual diet;
in my left pocket, I'm checking the right...
drugs and alcohol brought me into this plight,
poverty and crime, to both I'm bound;
in my left pocket, I'm checking the right -
my name was nowhere to be found.

My name was? Nowhere to be found
was the weapon of her first choice,
handwritten pages typed and bound.
My name was nowhere to be found,
on the jacket, on the damp ground,
or on the pistol I gave voice.
My name was nowhere! To be found
was the weapon of her first choice.

Was the weapon of her first choice,
killer smile--she wore it well,
fooling men with grace. Her poise
was the weapon of her first choice.
Win them over. Panties moist,
thinking of the lies she'd tell.
Was the weapon of her first choice.
Killer smile. She wore it well.

Killer smile. She wore it well
even in the darkest of times
her smile was the brightest of hells.
Killer smile. She wore it well
even in the darkest of times
worth not pennies, nickles, nor dimes.
Killer smile. She wore it well
even in the darkest of times.

Even in the darkest times
I hear your voice, it lingers there
to sooth my soul. Your silly rhymes,
even in the darkest times
are music to me. Love of mine,
I feel you touch me everywhere.
Even in the darkest times.
I hear your voice...it lingers. There.

I hear your voice. It lingers there
by the door and beside me in bed.
I close my ears, but everywhere
I hear your voice. It lingers there
beside me on the sofa where
we quarreled. Always in my head
I hear your voice. It lingers there
by the door and beside me in bed.

by the door and beside me in bed
night after night after goddamn
night, love is dangled from a thread
by the door and beside me in bed.

hopes float like moths, then plunge like lead
slugs in my throat. i rise. i am
by the door. And beside me in bed,
night after night, after, goddamn.

Night after night after goddamn
night, my neighbors won't let me rest
with their goddamn rowdy noise, and
night after night after goddamn
night, I'd pound the wall. Then the man
killed his wife. Now it's quiet. And yet,
night after night after goddamn
night, my neighbors won't let me rest.

night. my neighbors won't let me rest.
the fond folly of civility
imprisons a bird in its nest.
night. my neighbors won't let me rest.

i would flee east if they glanced west,
farewells beyond my ability.
night. my neighbors won't let me rest:
the fond folly of civility.

(Yeah, I know, line 2 is nine syllables... I'm a rebel)

The fond folly of civility:
alibi for abhorrent behaviors.
Disguised by counterfeit humility,
the fond folly of civility
can be shrouded by smiles and gentility;
demonstrating one's heartless ability
to politely fuck over his neighbors.
The fond folly of civility;
alibi for abhorrent behaviors.

Alibi for abhorrent behaviors --
"I'm just being honest," she claims,
the glint in her eye sharp as a razor.
Alibi for abhorrent behaviors --
wielding her so-called truth as a rapier,
she slashes and pierces and maims.
Alibi for abhorrent behaviors --
"I'm just being honest," she claims.

"I'm just being honest," she claims.
With a smug simper and a wink,
she's managed to shift all the blame.
"I'm just being honest," she claims --
and somehow you feel too ashamed
to tell her what you really think.
"I'm just being honest," she claims,
with a smug simper and a wink.

With a smug, simper, and a wink
twilight covered daylights last peep
wrapped with silver linings so twink.
With a smug, simper, and a wink
the cows mooed at the deep dark ink,
sheep bleated to watch the moon leap
with a smug, simper, and a wink
twilight covered daylights last peep.

OK, I haven't been silly enough lately. Time to get back into it.


Twilight-Covered Daylights Last Peep --
they aren't my favorite Easter treat.
Though they're festive and they're cheap,
Twilight-Covered Daylights Last Peep
are too cloying; my teeth sink deep
until I'm overwhelmed with sweet.
Twilight-Covered Daylights Last Peep --
they aren't my favorite Easter treat.

OK. I left a weird line last time. Let's see if I can do marginally better. It's still gonna be weird, though. And it's still going to be about peeps.


They aren't my favorite Easter treat.
Give me a tulip or lily,
not a squishy yellow sweet.
They aren't my favorite Easter treat.
Chocolate makes my day complete,
but peeps to me are simply silly.
They aren't my favorite Easter treat --
give me a tulip or lily.

Give me a tulip or lily,
the more to remember you.
Simplistic--you never liked frilly.
Give me a tulip or lily,
floral notes more akin to Chantilly--
Chanel No. 5 will not do.
Give me a tulip or lily,
the more to remember you.

April 28 and no takers since? Uh oh, have I single-handedly unravelled this thread?



The more to remember you,
Ma made a plate of sticky buns.
Don't stop at one or two!
The more to remember you,
jest shut yer yapper trap and chew!
Yer puttin' on the poundage, Hon--
the more to remember you.
Ma made a plate of sticky buns.

Oh my god I think I killed it.

Ma made a plate of sticky buns
to fill the space my heart once was.
Think of all the grocery runs
Ma made. A plate of sticky buns
answers my call to 911.
The latest wreck her love withdraws.
Ma made a plate of sticky buns
to fill the space my heart once was.

Yay Prescribo!

*whew*

To fill the space my heart once was,
I wrote a sweetly sad haiku*
because that's what a poet does
to fill the space. My love once was
a paragon, but now--because
there's nothing left of it, or you--
to fill the space my heart once was,
I wrote a sweetly sad haiku.

I wrote a sweetly sick haiku
with Summer's end and Autumn's trend
of colorful leaves and brown stew.
I wrote a sweetly sick haiku
looked into the sky, thought of you
among the stars, another Big Bend.
I wrote a sweetly sick haiku
with Summer's end and Autumn's trend

With Summer's end and Autumn's trend
toward Winter's Rest beneath the snow;
a quickening of days portend,
with Summer's end and Autumn's trend:
our days are numbered. We pretend,
but in our heart of hearts, we know,
with Summer's end and Autumn's trend,
toward Winter's Rest beneath the snow. . .