What it is

June 2010: In a desperate attempt to stave off senility, the monkey began writing a poem a day. By summer's end he'd begun to run out of versified political rants and philosophical bloviations. Then he hit on the improbable idea of writing micro fiction in the form of Elizabethan sonnets. Eureka. The birth of the "Sonnets From Other Lives" series. Two hundred plus lives later, he's still at it.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Sonnets From Other Lives: Joey

This is it. Enough. It stops tonight.
The bitch is gone. Looks like she got away.
She knew when I woke up there’d be a fight.
I’m going out. There will be hell to pay.
The world is bullshit--just a broken promise.
Everything they told me was a lie.
I tried--God help me. They can suck on this.
This is a good & fucked up day to die
but they’re all fucked up now so there it is.
Only way I know to make it stop--
Hit the road with Jose Cuervo & get pissed.
What they call it? Suicide by cop?
When in the end I’m sprawled out on the road. It
won’t matter that the pistol isn’t loaded.
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