I'm Mad at My Blog

I think that's why I'm not speaking to it as much.

I'm angry that it has become so pointless.
No purpose.
I can't even speak my truths here.
No where.
So I hate this blog. Just another front.
Another front and another front--
until nothing is left.


Meanwhile, I must produce somthing for my secret writing group
[they must loathe my posts]:


Exhibit

The sign read: Café.
But he wasn’t so sure.

On one foot he stood
at the mahogany counter
poised with a flaming pink tie,
pruning, if you will.

He watched Ariel float by
with lacquered sea weed
for hair, spread thick on the canvas.
Her sea-shelled breast looked awkward.

Alligator shoes lounged
nearby under the table lamps.
Yawning. Laptops opened wide.
Numbers flying. Steam rolling.

He walks among them;
They look to the walls.