From the archives: Bramble Tamble Poetry Slamble, pp. 7-8

More bad poetry, from the Leaves of Crap collection, c. 1998.

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6.28.86
What was I doing then?
Playing baseball, I assume. I was 11.
And the Flag broke up afterwards.
I have their last show on tape. It was that night.
It's probably worth 17 cents now.

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You know I'm coming back for you.
I'll let you know so you can pack.

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Kurt said, "I don't regret a thing."
I guess he never met the likes of you.

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Two cedar boxes full of pennies.
I could roll them up and buy a pack of smokes.

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I can't see how anyone can believe in
anything or anyone anymore.

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I had an ambition, as recently as six hours ago,
to ask out and potentially lay each and every woman
I laid eyes upon, until I realized who I was
dealing with. It was a passing thing.

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There was a time, as recently as three years ago,
when I would have gone out with Lucy.

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Oh, Heidi. We're nothing more than two star-crossed
friends with our own problems that will eat us alive
if we're not careful. The fact that you try so hard
to be my friend makes me long for your friendship all
the more.

If you were here now, we'd split a bottle of brandy
and talk about how nasty the world is, and then you
could sleep in my bed and I'd sleep on the couch.

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Morgan's in Germany now. Sieg heil and all that.

(Those last two bits were about long-lost Internet girlfriends - and by "girlfriends," I mean "friends who happen to be girls." I lost touch with both, because at this particular point, I was without Internet access. I found out later that Morgan got married. Good for her! Meanwhile, I wonder what ever happened to Lucy?)