Okay so here’s a second draft of that poem. I think I may post a few more as you will obviously be enthralled by my spectacular editing process. If that is not the case, go away I don’t want you here. Just a note: I know there are spaces between each line that shouldn’t be there. I don’t feel like fixing it right now.
As my alarm clock rings
not surprising me in the least
am I ready to leap out of bed?
should i leave my warm bed
on which i lie or should i come clean
i scrape the crust from my eyes
liberate my body from my
seemingly sometimes suffocating sheets
but should I go somewhere
with friends or with enemies…
Should I leave this house to scorn
to see sights unseeable
stare into the face of public indecency
experience the ear shattering cries of infancy
or would i run all the way (half way) back
home: to live, laugh, love, or lust
shall I simply stay in bed
and stare at the ceiling
marvel at the stains and wonder
how did they get there?
something to do with a light switch…?
I’m not sure.
I could sit inert and ensconced
upon this mattress in all its fortitude
or the world outside could just wait.
Oh, and I would like to wish a happy birthday to the Dadpoet. In fact I don’t just wish. I demand. I don’t care what sort of calamities happens during the last few hours of his birthday. He’s going to go to bed with a smile… even if it’s forced (*wink).