eek, a frog, by Herman Shorts

eek, a frog

does a king come ready–

made, or doesn’t he

emerge from a prince

once a frog,

and aren’t you

supposed to kiss him first?

i think you’ve got things

all wrong, unless

of course, i do.

(2014)

cool this angst some with beer, amazing how it works, three in and suddenly ashamed that i could hate

i love you for the doubt you show me still possible in this body where you show me

of course it is not about you. you have to know this, like baby birds know worms come with mother’s return,

the center holds itself still that rockets believably may be seen exploding in all directions from somewhere vaguely

I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.

every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which

now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine

so, come on then, brilliant one, see, i’ve been waiting for you with eyes

webwomb’s not the maker of me. came into it as falling is done. down, only always

was all stupid. you weren’t that entertaining. i find it all only sad now, that

liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem

a breeze. already know what’s what. shut up. kiss her. shut up...

of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery

first fruits hardly a handful, the garden

here in the middle of the bottom of the lie how obvious