if you can
make poems

pellucid  
             limpid
clear & direct
as fine cut glass

but

(simultaneously)

fuzzy as
the stuffing
in a Teddy Bear's
head

occasionally

something might
actually get said

  ~mce

god made stars
for starving poets

when they look up
they forget
how hungry they are

    ~mce

my brain burns
and i can't sleep

too much poetry
too many difficult books

a part of my head
has popped open

i believe i have
a metaphysical hernia
brought on by
too much thinking

only one thing to do

truss it up tightly
and turn on reality TV

after a few episodes
my brain turns to mush
and the swelling
subsides.

brain dead bliss
not a synapse firing

absolute relief
of no thought

perfect slumber
of the seriously
stupid

Man with no future
seeks woman
with no past
for mutual oblivion.
Please send
your qualifications
on a blank postcard
addressed to nowhere.
We shall see
how things progress
from there.
  - mce