[Newspoetry] Hi -- (And add: Yo Silver, Away)

[Donald L Emerick]

Re Don-Emerick-nonstop-newspoeticizings...

There are some things that money can't buy,
there are many more things that I want to try...
that money wouldn't want to own by and by...
like, for instance, drivel of my scratchy voice,
induced vomiting from a dormant volcano...
which spews spoils from soiling solo values  
who likes to explore a world aux orality,
French tongue it, talking Derridadaisms
until vomit becomes blocked for enemates.

nonetheless, graffiti is as graffiti doughs,
if you'll pardon the don for par wordplay,
which is always a way to self-amusement,
though the joker is not classic to memory,
something making a class sick to sucker.

if you read my book of arthritic arithmetic,
you would find sums that could not add up
because terms go missing, numbers misalign,
and other strange things happen to columns
which do not care how the count comes out,
as long as the origamic laws are satisfied,
by creases, paper cuts, and manipled folds --
though I also cheat and use glue and glitter,
and staples, tacks, nails, anchors for holds --
rarely giving credit to anyone for anything
I beg, borrow-steal of AbbyssHoughMein.

Why do I write so much when I say so little?
my therapist says this would be therapeutic,
while my dentist says it would be denteutic,
and (if you could play along with me) so-on.

In a game where I convey sense to others,
by sculpting clay into a brick, for instance,
when a brick is the secret object in mind,
I simply form an oblong box-like shape,
and flop it down on a table for my team,
to stumble around and wildly try to name,
for I do not know how to make a thing
look like a brick any more than it does,
though it also looks like all oblong things.
(Consider rectangular parallel-(pied)-pipers
from what once was called solid geometry --
but is now, political correction, elsenamed.)

Tell me this brick-resembling oblong is not
a brick because you think it is a shoe-box,
and what can I say, for you are right, too,
shoe-box and brick are mutually resembling...

(And would you, seeing a shoe-box hyphen,
wonder why brick is not a br-ick or br-i-ck,
or even, as we French would say, a bri-que?
and as we Arabs call Abri-Ka-Dabu-Rie?)

And if you said my oblong was a flower,
I might see a resemblance, up to a point,
for I have more imagination than artistry,
and very little of either that is reasonable,
yet I do try to get you to see florid bricks,
brick-a-brac floorings flowering in bloom,
as a broom sweeps down through boom.

The rest of you may be a happy blessed few
who have not to live daily with Don Emerick,
nor hear you all his gurgles, belches, or farts,
noisily breaking wind when he is wound up,
steaming his glassy eyes over until they gaze
on some possible ending that lets him escape.

Ah, if I take this next exit, I may get home,
Thanks for listening, Donald L Emerick