New draft poem

35 Random Facts About Me

I once shot a neighbor and his dog with rock salt,
my father had loaded the shell;
I like old houses and old people;
Most days I feel androgynous and am quite comfortable it;
In spring and fall, I drive the back roads with all the windows down;
I feel at home with sassafras, ferns and gnarly apple trees;
I have systemic lupus arithmatosis;
For my favorite cousin, music notes have colors and numbers.
I like to do laundry but am very tired on doing everything for everybody;
Smoking is a joy I indulge in frequently;
The poems of Tennyson always sing to me;
My grandmother was in an insane asylum and couldn’t remember my name,
even though I am partly named for her;
I get five o-clock shadow on my legs;
I love the evening ‘tween time especially when the light is yellow;
I don’t like the city;
My father could play the jaw’s harp, I use to try to do it myself but always hurt my teeth;
Rainy days are a comfort to me.
As a teenage I stole Camel cigarettes from my Father and Lucky Strikes from my uncle;
Death seems like a new exciting adventure waiting for me.
I have my own religion with roots deep in dark loam, and it has never failed me.
I buy white cotton socks and I always wear them without shoes;
I like to be invisible and am sometimes so good that I being to resent the ability.
I don’t remember my childhood.  I like good West Virginia moonshine.
I see invisible people all the time and they talk to me.
I still miss the child from my miscarriage in 1970,
even though, as a rule, I’m not that fond of children;
The smell of fresh green marijuana sends me somewhere wonderful,
I don't like to smoke it, only smell it.
When I hear good music I accompany it with dancing in my head. 
I always wanted dance lessons;
I am a little afraid of cows.
I understand the language of violets and buttercups, it’s convoluted fairy speak.
I was once married to a habitual liar who was also crazy.  He’s dead now.
I am a collector of useless information and gadgets.
I am so much shorter than I think I am.

1 comment:

  1. This a draft of an exercise from the poetry workshop I attend in Parkersburg, WV

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