Today, I got some in-grown toenails torn out, and they hurt like hell. There's a lot of noise in my head right now--noise meaning paaaaaaain--that I'm assured will settle down tomorrow, and then onward towards a new life without chronic toe throbbing, amen.
So today, I'm just going to post one of my favorite poems by Richard Brautigan:
Fuck me like fried potatoes
on the most beautifully hungry
morning of my God-damn life.
Any fave lines of poetry you'd like to share?
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I will show my redneck ignorance and admit the point of most poetry escapes me. I definitely don't write it, and I also don't read it. If I happen across it...yes, I'll let my eyes wander over the words, but I don't purposely seek it out.
Posted by: Lori Armstrong | September 20, 2009 at 08:35 AM
As an English major, I spent a lot of time reading a lot of poetry by dead white Brits. I love Donne and Shakespeare's sonnets. The Romanticists I could live without. In college a friend rewrote Keats's Ode to a Grecian Urn as Ode to a Grecian Urinal. Sadly I can only remember the title, but it was a riot.
Posted by: Karen Olson | September 20, 2009 at 11:53 AM
Nothing like a little Brautigan to brighten a Monday. Thanks.
Here's my contribution, from ee cummings:
a salesman is an it that stinks Excuse
Me whether it's president of the we were say
or a jennelman name misder finger isn't
important whether it's millions of other punks
or just a handful absolutely doesn't
matter and whether it's in lonjewray
or shrouds is immaterial it stinks
a salesman is an it that stinks to please
but whether to please itself or someone else
makes no more difference than if it sells
hat condoms education snakeoil vac
uumcleaners terror strawberries democ
ra(caveat emptor)cy superfluous hair
or Think We've Met subhuman rights Before
I love that democra(caveat emptor)cy.
I enjoy poetry, but don't read it often enough. I'm going to pull down a few volumes tonight. Thanks for the prompt.
As a post script, here are two of my favorites from Brautigan. The first is call Too Many Lifetimes Like This One, Right?:
Too many lifetimes like this one, right?
Hungover, surrounded by general goofiness,
lonely, can’t get it up, I feel just like
a pile of bleached cat shit.
and Negative Clank:
He’d sell a rat’s asshole
to a blindman for a wedding
ring.
Don't even get me started on TS Eliot, I'll be here all damn day.
Posted by: David Terrenoire | September 21, 2009 at 09:11 AM
Ditto what Lori said...
In my favorite college English class, we tore apart satiric poems to understand the social, cultural & political environment of the poets' era. I enjoyed it more for the history lesson than the English one.
That being said, I admire people who do like, write and understand poetry. It's just not for me.
Posted by: Becky Hutchison | September 21, 2009 at 12:29 PM
I love filthy poetry, because I'm a pig who feel excitement at any kind of dirty trash. Thank you
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