by Randall Rogers
neither was Kurt Cobain
and Hemingway at the end and Hunter
oh thank Lord there’s no guns in the house and they don’t have gas ovens here cuz they don’t
bake things here in Thailand and I’d never icky cut my wrists so no with the knives and the doc won’t give me enough pills or I can’t horde 'em long enough to get enough of 'em to, as they say, "get the job done"
hanging’s out too, what kind of a jerk would do that?
just imagine me dangling at the end of a noose!
No I’ll do my suiciding the old fashioned way
sex with prostitutes
too much drinking on occasion
non stop pot smoking
and yaa baa (this speed) taking and living the
writer’s bohemian no job life
like other writer guys
that didn’t really take a firm hand in outright killing themselves but
rather let the tar or nicotine
or the booze
do the job enjoyably for them.
I throw my liver and lungs and brain
in with that crowd.
I’m not with the blow your head off scene.
- ► 2010 (221)
- My Country Right But Wrong
- THE MAD GIRL, NOW WITH TIME FREE, JUST MAKES LISTS...
- THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS THE ROOM UNDERGROUND
- Murray & Marie
- Literary Critic
- Adderall Floating Island Dream
- Miscommunicating by Poetry or My 2nd Ever Alyssa P...
- Golden Boy
- THE MAD GIRL REMEMBERS THAT YEAR ALL SHE LOOKED FO...
- THE MAD GIRL DREAMS SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CORDUROY
- The Night
- He was clueless in Gaza
- Day of the Dead
- THE MAD GIRL WAKES UP, DARKNESS BLOATING INSIDE HE...
- I Should Know By Now
- Looking For Answers
- No I’m Not Happy To Be Alive
- Wax Stripper
- THE MAD GIRL THINKS OF OTHER DECEMBERS
- I Made This Poem Up
- Letter to Pris
- Loving Norman
- THE MAD GIRL WANTS JULY TO SLOW DOWN
- Linda’s Place
- She Says I Like the Sun and She Likes the Night
- THE MAD GIRL ON HER MAD GIRL POEMS
- Glad that’s over with
- Holiday in Guantanamo Bay
- ▼ June (32)