Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Archive for the month “August, 2018”

Angels Always Win

Wrestling angels is tiring.  They always win

And are nice about it.

Which is mean, really, but they’re angels

And angels never lose.

The arena –  here inside my head.

And the bout is between me

And Mr. Angel, who never loses.

The Bad Boy who roars and wrestles;

Mr. Angel, of course, who never loses.

Bad Boy fumes and mutters.

Mr. Angel’s nonchalant.

Omnia Vanitas

I’m not especially vain,

But I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.

Not stupid. No Dunning-Kruger Effect here.

Not a slob, but fitted sheets did save me

From hospital corners.

Shirts ironed, as the pants.

Shoes clean and brushed.

Braced and belted for work, of course.

But looser here where I live.

Henry Rollins said he was not

Lonely.  He was solitary.

I get that.

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