Hat Bueckert Poet I do not know?

Foolhardy

i slipped up on the rose bush
the thorns were razor sharp
the queen of suspect warnings
sat silent playing on her harp
now im dripping on the weeds
and laying out my big blue tarp

my colossal hat adjusted
ever moving oh so slightly
nodding here, winking there
thoughts expressed so very lightly
the sun was bare upon my wound
exassurbating brightly

sprawled across the ground they lie
the reservations i had picked
dissolving in the open field
with the frosting i had licked
poor little empty cupcake
now so plain and simply panicked

i rested with the bean man
he knew all of my tales
he crossed his arms absurdly
and pitched untrodden sales
since he'd heard all of my anecdotes
our communication fails

my day in dull grey cotten
no more herioc than your plastic
i found frolicking in roses
because he thought it was fantastic
that the big machine that made us turn
was held together by elastic

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Johnny H. June 21, 2009 at 1:24 AM i like this. i'm never good at explaining why i like poems... but i guess i just like how this can paint a picture, but not just a normal picture, a picture of a sort of fairy tale which is half your imagination as a writer and half our imagination as a reader. yeah i just like it.