If You are Confused, Check with the Sun

Green / R.E.M.






There are movies I wish I wrote.  Musical artists whose work just makes me think wow, makes me want to write, makes me wish I could be half that good.  Micheal Stipe, and R.E.M. fall into that category for me.

Sometimes in this mode, I actually write poetry.  Ironic, since I don't read poetry, hell, I don't like poetry, but some times I write it.  Go figure?

                                                         Inside Out

                                                                       Gargirls

                                                                       dressed in black

                                                                       walk the mall

                                                                       with hair

                                                                       the color of

                                                                       roosters,

                                                                       accessorized

                                                                       with studded collars and

                                                                       hoops in their eyebrows.

                                                                       Cloaked with

                                                                       apathy,

                                                                       service is swift.

                                                                       Protected by

                                                                       an exoskeleton

                                                                       of indifference

                                                                       shielded

                                                                       from the weather

                                                                       of age

                                                                       They have seen

                                                                       the past and

                                                                       fear the future.

                                                                       But they do not see,

                                                                       they are me

                                                                       inside out.

                                                                        Dante’s Lunch

                                                                        a china plate on my lap

                                                                       balances a salad containing

                                                                       things I cannot identify,

                                                                       while the ladies who lunch

                                                                       discuss the problems of

                                                                       interior design.

                                                                       I smile and nod, careful

                                                                       to have a continual mouthful

                                                                       grateful that my time in Hell

                                                                       is only a visit.