something like a Subaru

I'm going to write a long poem
now. full of encylopedias and earthworms
cicadids and bifurcated PVC pipe.
I'll do something, say something, write something
long and effortful worrying all the time that
this isn't right or that shouldn't be that way but in the end
it won't matter . why? Well, because it won't. Becasu. Japanese for because.
Becasu you said so. Becasu I said so. And who am i? The one who gets to say.
So shut yer pie hole. and listen. to a story about a man named jed and the cement pond. Granny said she wouldn't cook any vietnamese if jethro killed them. but that's not
anything and I'm referring to myself as some kind of a metpahor
phor existence, best not misspelled . my typing is bad, poor. my typing is poor.
but it gets words into the machine. i could tell you a story about typing class in ninth grade but I won't. It's boring. So is this "long" poem. Becasu.

He could hear the song coming up from downstairs.
from that depressed songwriter who killed himself
"mmm wish I was you..."

They fried their weapons
in the deep fryer with a batter
from Marci's Aunt in Huron country

They fornicated on the grass
"How'd you get those grass stains?"

the boiled their eyes in old fashions
the bar smelled like, well, like the way old bars smell.

They had a propensity for laughing. Everything could seem to be funny.
Like Mr. Wilkins.

They ate their weapons silently sipping Coca-Cola.

a bad morning

I'm supposing
it's not

if you look too long

following an uncorroborated misgiving
he spent his nickel
on a bottle of been there done that