it'll be gone before i read it

actually i did read this at poetry, so the title is the joke.  
i write a new one each day, so if you've read my work you'll know they're the same.


all the tractors live in rows
all the runes remain dormant
the sausages rind in wilderness shine
the herring never gets a hearing
washing up to shore apples
the peach got creamed but that was its' goal
flashlight in the wilderness snow
all the weddings smashed
wondering where to go
traveling one land to the next
apples in a row
in the evening pie we slaughter
mixing vowels not defined
intuit the bad
that doesn't make sense of anything
the tulips are sad so it doesn't matter
twisted of logic extracted from mind
it isn't that rage was developing
it was always there, but then gave up
some listless despair hiding in filters
not wanting to reckon
a complete shutdown
needs regeneration
i'm not there.  just a figment of a place disappeared.
the shelter is gone, the apple left behind
reach for the bunkers they're not there
just a figment of a repetitious mind
thought for the slaughter
how much better it is to share
nobody wants to go there
some shade of destruction
and in the final edit it will be deleted
because uplifting is the order of the day
substandard is the rule of night
although it's all day long
and rationalized by numbers
or words and actions
is it the thoughts that make it true?
or is it the depression settling in
that intangible beyond definition
the jumble of words spit on the page
flowing
the slide given the slip
it doesn't matter if they're happy
they're just there, ready to get hurt.
or analyzed to fault exchange
it's why the explained can not be shared
too many inverted pains
and the lucky get sick for dinner
when the pants get left in the exchange
reaching for that bag of elements
they're incomplete but who cares
it's real as iron and copper
fusing elements to create others
it's no good to ban
everyone should have the choice of good or destruction
it's the rationale that's incomplete
that sues and sends to court
oh what it is to settle
the rumors fly, it's not enough
so many meanings it's not funny
what is the funny bone but pain
and the washing up to shore the shame
eat your vegetables go to work
it's not enough
you feel bad
it's not enough

denis streeter     6/10/18