/explore
|
You are here |
hereticsloversmadmen.wordpress.com | ||
| | | | |
bartbarkerpoet.com
Frozen pizza for dinner. I open the preheated oven door to cool off. |
|
| | | | | ||
| | | | |
bartbarkerpoet.com
I let men believeThe rhythm of the bassMakes me lose controlOf my feetMy legsMy hipsThat I must yield toThe frantic beatThat I don't mean toReveal these petticoatsBut of courseIt's all a showAnd men are simpleTo control This year marks the tenth anniversary of my first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular. To celebrate I'll be posting... |
|
| | | | | ||
| | | | |
bartbarkerpoet.com
In a room without clocks we sit in semicomfy chairs waiting for the storm |
|
| | | | | ||
| | | | |
bartbarkerpoet.com
Red pickup trucks run us down a wake of buzzards pick over our corpse even though we're not dead yet Discovered today that the collective noun for buzzards, specifically feeding buzzards, is a wake. I propose we also use that term for billionaires. For example, "The wake of billionaires at Trump's inaugural..." |
|
| | | |||