headline poetry

the pandemonium of objects
is getting the better of me

I was once successful at drowning the chatter
but the clatter really does matter
and if I tatter one more dress I
will really get as mad as a hatter

fruitful is the multiplication, barren is the ground
sucked dry with not even a parade
to celebrate its passing
no balloons or candy or big men in little cars
and little hats

the days to come will be bountiful
for some
one
or many
I don’t know

what once was doctrine,
now is lore
it lays on the floor
next to the whore
who was such a bore
how can I know

my unfailing acumen and acuity that grew in a jar
on the night stand of my bed when I was four
have left me now for another head
it’s not pretty, I know
I know how