Why I Stopped Reading Robert Frost

As I reach the bottom
of the bag
of some shit I used to like,
I realize
I'm bored,
and don't want it anymore.

It's like
when I was mad for what's-her-name
or
mad to be what's-her-name
and the tide 
was mad to go
first to
then fro.
What a waste of time.

So here
are my
seventy-five million poems
that lifted,
shifted,
expressed the flesh around these bones.
But today
I may
get up and walk right through the wall
and the me I leave behind
is just a stupid staring doll.

At the bottom
of this bag
is some shit I used to like.
Can you dig
can you see
the fish there riding on its bike?
in a lather
in a circle
with miles to go before it sleeps?
_________

for Sunday Muse # 105.

art by Samy Charnine.

The Strobe Of Time

The strobe of time will knock your old stories right out of your mouth,
those laments and war stories you think you're made of.

The strobe of time dazzles you blind to anything not smack in front of you--
you'll smell oranges,
spin dizzy,
and slave yourself to the dance beat of

now now now now now now now now

at the Disco of Indeterminate Duration.
_____

just some quick nonsense for Poets United: The Moment.

Medea, NASA Wife

Death is the ultimate gravity.
Astronauts understand this, and live forever,
but weep as they work, knowing they can never go home again.

What friend, what doctor,
can comfort the deathless in their solitary endlessness?
What aspect of research, 
what nourishing knowledge
could ever make their exile bearable?

Look! In the sky!
Nothing. 
Woman, you cannot touch them; there is nothing so remote as a departing spouse,
sure of everything and saying so,
all the while

fearing the fire of re-entry
and the facing of wives and waves which once welcomed, and now destroy.
______

for get listed with grapeling at real toads.

Because Becca

Because Becca,
Hawks (which Becca likes) matter.
(More than blue jays, which Becca doesn't,
And which are nothing more than puffed-up mimics anyway.)
Also, sweet rolls
And switchblades.
Becca is greater than Sally, Meghan, Jane.
Becca is less than...
(Empty set.)
Because Becca,
I have worn my red hat,
Red scarf,
Black suede boots,
And jean jacket.
Because Becca,
They will all find new accomodations,
Placed by the extra heater
In Becca's white bedroom
Overlooking Stroud Avenue.
In the moments of dark late afternoon,
I posit:
"Because Becca, everything else."
The way I feel,
The way the world seems to be (better),
My body, full of endorphins,
Up a flight of stairs, and behind a multi-colored brick wall,
One storey up from Stroud Avenue.
The reverse is not true:
"Because everything else, then Becca."
No.
That shit was all here before,
And so what?
Write this down, (I say to her dog,
Whose eyes lift up, but not his head, from his paws)
"Because Becca,
Everything else."
His tail thumps.
Eat my dust, pedants, philosophers, muthafukkas!
Proof.
_____

posited for Kenia's challenge at Real Toads.