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Array ( [sid] => 80476 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => typeclick [time] => 2005-01-18 20:30:04 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Man, boy
sit in solid seclusion.

typeclick
typeclick
type

your weary words
to the world, and
Sit.

while your smooth jaw lengthens
to chew on the thirty year old carpet
in hopes of recognition; Recluse

your words have no significance,
sighing signs of steady
Decline

from your position, poet.
You hold no hope
of height; you are not
a writer, what waning
talent there once was
was once what it is not
now

step down to receive no reward, realize no
one will want this Garbagio in their heads

I am the Cheeseman and I will never be
more than this
fondue or find my form
of cottage cheese or cheddar
brain to boil and bubble;
I can’t

come or calm
down my dreams,
a bottle of beer,

go glug glug glug and it is gone…

And these aspirations are always
grandiose, getting grander
by the minute!; moving right along
and moving on is just too difficult.

So still I sit
silently
sipping and tipping
this bottle back,

holding higher elevation,
ending empty
or empty ending…

This is my life and
This is done and

I have just wasted forty-nine seconds of your life.

[comments] => 3 [counter] => 153 [topic] => 60 [informant] => SensitiveSoAbused [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => insomniac )

typeclick

Contributed by SensitiveSoAbused on Tuesday, 18th January 2005 @ 08:30:04 PM in AEST
Topic: insomniac

Man, boy
sit in solid seclusion.

typeclick
typeclick
type

your weary words
to the world, and
Sit.

while your smooth jaw lengthens
to chew on the thirty year old carpet
in hopes of recognition; Recluse

your words have no significance,
sighing signs of steady
Decline

from your position, poet.
You hold no hope
of height; you are not
a writer, what waning
talent there once was
was once what it is not
now

step down to receive no reward, realize no
one will want this Garbagio in their heads

I am the Cheeseman and I will never be
more than this
fondue or find my form
of cottage cheese or cheddar
brain to boil and bubble;
I can’t

come or calm
down my dreams,
a bottle of beer,

go glug glug glug and it is gone…

And these aspirations are always
grandiose, getting grander
by the minute!; moving right along
and moving on is just too difficult.

So still I sit
silently
sipping and tipping
this bottle back,

holding higher elevation,
ending empty
or empty ending…

This is my life and
This is done and

I have just wasted forty-nine seconds of your life.

Copyright Â© SensitiveSoAbused ... [ 2005-01-18 20:30:04]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: typeclick (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Tuesday, 18th January 2005 @ 08:38:40 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Not really - I was just reading last night about a writer's worst fear is oblivion (Garrison Keeler in an introduction to an anthology). If nothing else, that fear gives us something else to write about. This expresses it pretty good. Blessings.

Re: typeclick (User Rating: 1 )
by TaintedSoul on Tuesday, 18th January 2005 @ 10:22:45 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

We all have our monkeys that jump up and down on our backs maniacally. Poetry is merely one of them, and at times seems as if it's on crack.

Then again, what is one kitty's trash is another kitty's treasure. Why should verbage be any different. Enjoyed this thoroughly.

peace
TS

Re: typeclick (User Rating: 1 )
by bobotheclown on Wednesday, 19th January 2005 @ 01:09:48 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

good to see another poem by you buddy.
This was so sad once I figured out that it was
about drinking. Very well written though in
your classic trademark style. Hope to see a
lot more from you in the near future.

Bobo (Joel)

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