Thursday, December 10, 2009
The Phoenix. A 55 word poem for Galen, or G-man on his blog...Galen loves 55's but is ailing today. Get well Galen. My poem migh act as an emetic .
Dunno what's up with me.
Dunno what's up with Galen, or "G-man" as he is known on his blog that features 55 word pieces. He is sick this weekend, I am told.
Hold up, old man!
Not too good over here either.
I woke up this morning with my entire left side seized up.
And the old ticker is going thud, thud, thud. Very likely psychosomatic. I haven't had a drink in a while.
Love that old joke about heart attacks:
Death is nature's way of slowing you down.
I am slowing down. Blogger Galen is slowing down My apartment's a mess. The centre does not seem to hold. My penis droops. Creativity is low...Have to conjure, have to augur.
I am rolling stiff socks around my parquet floor,conjuring, auguring hoping to compose a Flash 55 for Galenwho is the local judge and abitrer of these things.
Best I can do is recycle a recent poem of mine, paring it down to 55 words. But I can't count. Oh well, here goes.
At first they tried to starve the phoenix.
He meandered from field to field, picking plucking, thinking.
They finally tethered the phoenix.
Fed him rocks and gruel.
Called him French Canadian. Called him woodpecker. Bash de face against de tree
They finally tethered him. He became spavined. Molted.
Till one day the flash.
(Is that a 55?) Only Galen knows and I hope he takes a gander here. Gander? Well, no. I'm trying to put up a Phoenix Pfiffty Ffive..