Clippings and Jottings

I jotted these two poems down today while cutting the grass and posted them unedited and raw. Soooo……

“Styling Mz Fitté’s Label”

“Vices”

“He who is by art a tragic poet is also a comic poet.”
Socrates

 

 

Styling Mz Fitté’s Label

Thinking out loud
Of my own destiny
I found myself lost
And alone on a seam
With no one to hear
Or communicate
I decided to travel
To a place that I would probably more than likely really hate

To go there I’d need
A new to me fit
So hired assistance
From the seamstress
Mz Fitté
Awkwardly knocking
The door sign “open”
The Tall darkened mistress reluctantly but measurably let me in

She eyed me up
Molest me with tape
Adorned me with velvet
Laughed mouth agape
Found an old tweed
And gentleman’s worn cap
Some patent leather shoes
Bagged em all up with a smile and sent me on with a pat.
Chicks kinda cute!

To the east end of town
I wore out my soles
To a benevolent crowd
Of malevolent ghouls
They welcomed me in
Said, “you look good for a fool.”
I was last to leave
Last one awake as I dreadfully realized my odious fate

The sun now arose
I headed due west
To stop for some breakfast
But saw those in same dress
Off of Main Street
Under the bridge
Soulful eyed and smileless*
They yelled and stomped and chased me away with revel and unity

Continuing on
To a seminar free
I tucked in my shirt
And entered tentatively
Sitting in chairs
Responding in cheers
For a speaker and microphone
Who pointed at me cursing my foolishness justifying their fears

Feeling disenchanted
Losing lost dreams
I searched out a sociopath
Of the highest esteem
He invited me in
Affably put me at ease
Cut me all up
With etiquette and manners he consumed me most gleefully

Fellow enthusiast
At least he was full
Til his stomach growled
And he spit me up whole
The others around me
We shared similarly
Rotting together
In a place where we all ended up unanimous and existing equally

 

 

 

Vices

There was an angler I knew
The nicest flies he would tie
He even won an award
Weren’t no surprise
Ended up at the Fly Tyer’s Vise
Where neophytes came to ask his advice
He summed it up
With a pretense of grin
Of little bugs in Lineaus Latin
They left none the wiser
Left derelict
The store sign to hire
His termination quick

 

 

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