Thursday, March 18, 2010


Sure, he liked the tattoos he got

when he ran with the 1%’s

and he liked burning a bowl before

the stockholders meeting, the presenter

puzzled by the sudden chuckles

floating above the sea of Parker Brothers

suits, silk ties, nightmares of the world

crashing silently among the others

He drank a little wine

some say a little too much

but by damn it was good wine

And it wasn’t so much his touch

with the cue stick that made his name

but the beauty of his bank shots

as the balls danced their gavotte

and whether he made the shot or not

his opponent bought the drinks regardless

Ok, maybe he chased the ladies

and his indiscretions were as dramatic

and fatal like some STD malaises’

Money was not his friend

he went through it like shit goes through birds

and he was depressed and mal-adjusted

and treated people like smelly turds

But he was a fine poet, he ran deep

He brought us all on his journey

So what if he couldn’t sleep

‘till laid out on a steel gurney

1 comment:

  1. Haven't heard you go all rhymie before, Mike, but you show us how it's done. This is good work.

    ~ Ralph