The Pine

Here’s another of the new poems I read on Sunday at A Rrose in a Prose.

I seem to be doing a lot of poems recently with lines or themes (or, at least, words) that recur multiple times, in a cadence, maybe even a rhythm. Perhaps it’s because I know I might be doing these over a band like Cardoo! Or maybe because I lack conviction.

Or maybe because I HAVE it. In TRUCK LOADS.

Or maybe because I like Phyllis Diller–load up the premise and rattle off the bits!

Or maybe because it’s the laziest way to have real structure.

Or maybe because it flows from the mind like stop sign after stop sign, fast food joint after fast food joint.

Or maybe it’s because I enjoy the compositions of Johann Gambolputty-de-von-Ausfern-schplenden-schlitter-crass-cren-bon-fried-digger-dingle-dangle-dongle-dungle-burstein-von-knacker-thrasher-apple-banger-horowitz-ticolensic-grander-knotty-spelltinkle-grandlich-grumblemeyer-spelter-wasser-kurstlich-himble-eisenbahnwagen-guten-abend-bitte-ein-nürnburger-bratwürstel-gespurten-mitz-weimache-luber-hundsfut-gumeraber-schönendanker-kalbsfleisch-mittleraucher-von-Hautkopft of Ulm.

Or maybe it’s because I like lists.

Anyway, now that I’ve ruined the poem, here it is.

The Pine copy

D. M. Collins

D. M. Collins is a journalist and writer based in Los Angeles.

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