I Wear My Jeans to Bed

UPDATE: Sorry for being away for so long after your requests for more poetry. I've been really busy applying for jobs, finishing school and going to interviews. However, since you asked for it, here's more poetry. These words are not an example of my serious writing style but I'm thinking of using them as song lyrics. Hopefully you will be entertained.

I wear my jeans to bed,
cause there ain’t time to change me.
dust the dirt of my reason,
as if the stuff ever saved me.

I’ve listened to all the sermons,
but keep my eye curtain closed.
My dog died in my basement,
So now I piss on a rose.

I shaved my face with an axe.
I threw my wig in the punch bowl.
I ate my rice with a knife.
I caught my foot in a hog hole.

Gotta keep your feet planted
an’ reckon something can grow.
Dig up the weeds in your garden
Besides that I don’t know.

I just do what they tell me,
I don’t listen to hearsay.
It’s as confusing as all hell.
It’s cause I’m having a weird day.

Bombs dropping like anvils,
ordered straight from downtown.
The CEO on his high horse.
The general watching the ground.

I filled my pockets with hope,
emptied my legs of their steam.
I walked all through your alleys,
then forgot to get clean.

It’s amazing I can’t talk
with all these words in my mouth.
Once I had an idea
but then it all floated south.

You can’t trust your own leader.
They’ll mix up your staff.
Your jokes aren’t funny
but your life makes me laugh.

You shouldn’t be a real poet
with your side-slanted face.
You should stand on the big screen
but stay away from the lace.

You should stick to your business.
Don’t tell me what to do.
You wouldn’t run this whole country
if you stepped in my shoes.

I ain’t saying it’s plenty.
I’m just laying it plain.
If you think you’re so serious
then you should stop with your game.

I don’t write this for nothing.
In fact it takes quite a drive,
being gentle and nice-like
as not to clear out the hive.

The anarchists they are burning.
They don’t have their alarms.
I guess it’s better to listen.
Then to take up those arms.

Put a castle in small town.
Drop the bridge on the moat.
Tie a donkey to lame folks.
Buy a really big boat.

Raise a glass to the old times.
Get set for the new.
Break the ice with your sunbath.
Patch your heart with some glue.

Smile a crack if you’re willing.
Break a hole if you ain’t.
But spend some time for the milling.
Cause staying home’s for the faint.

I get a quarter for waiting.
A whole dollar to die.
If I can vouch for Sam’s cooking.
I’ll get a whole piece of the pie.

So are you glad you can read?
Some think of it as a sin.
I guess it depends who’s the writer
for just what you get in.

You can spit on the pavement
if you don’t like the road.
If you feel the rhyme weighing
Is it too much a load?

I thought you had the big muscles.
I thought your chin had the jut.
I delivered a healing.
Now who’s got a cut?

You can tell me in person
Or send me a note.
Strip it down to the naked
Or offer thoughts a nice coat.

To get specific is split hairs.
To make a point without slop
you have to do it right firstly
cause once you start you can’t stop.

If you’re feelin’ so lucky
then who will you be?
It’s time to let up now
I genuflect on my knee.

@Copyright 2006 SirBarrett
Filed under poetry and play

PS-Hair cut before and after pictures to come.