Seventh Street and Elliot

Sweet Six Teen.
Five Dollar Bill.
Four way stop.
Three’s a crowd.
Two way pager.
One night stand.
Blastoff
!

I hate the Yankees" earlier version

Curses, streaks, rivalries,
running cars, Wilco and green garden hoses.
First time ever, Impossible, Miracle.
Pimperton, Susie, a life full of bills.
Alone, a woman sits hating
baseball more than ever.
"Sweet Home Alabama" never
sounded so bad.
You selfish bastard,
you ended the game we
all lost,
not the Yankees.

All Nighters

I would say at about 5:18 or so during an all nighter is right around the time when you want to kill yourself. Your neck and back are sore and you eyesight has been blurry for sometime but finally you have rub your eyes every few minutes to make sure you are not going crazy. My brain thinks that it just got a job on the graveyard shift and my body is telling me its Sunday after noon. People have told me to make a list of things I need to do the next day so my mind doesn't think about them and tries to sleep. I have tried it a couple of times but my minds just starts thinking of things that I left off--catch 22 I guess. I feel a bit like Harold Crick I guess.

Sorry no poems this week trying to polish off old ones and get ready for the GRE yeah.