Two Poems Taking their Respective Stanzas

You can score it when you try to break it. If the edge is serrated you'll make it. When the what wore the how out; a knot tying bow; bought the dough but don't know how to bake it

Salted pretzel alighted a lark. Flash! The soda ignited a spark. Now I scrape off the ash (When I asked for a dash it outpoured from an unherald'd hark).

Keep Up with the Switches, Decide to Unquit Elsewhere

I want to read her from my known-poem-thrown poem--it picked a topic when the West was unshown (A bit myopic now that best been done grown). Grabbed a ticket to the train stop packed poem--Don't care a nickel bout my suitcase misstown (Awake at trainstop lights and her blue cell phone). Ate an apple of the mistracked switch thrown--Plopped the top off of a three stacked cream cone (Into alligator pursed-lips dial tone). Warped the siding off my new wall all lone--Fear alighted when the seam seamed missewn (I mistinkered 'til it sprung past mine own).

My eyes grew tired of reading for content. I decided to try it anew. If the form was the content all along then what the fuck was I doing searching so hard behind the form. I needed a new structure so I invented a new way of approaching the form that was already there, like climbing into bed up the fire escape. I began to read for the font. For the sounds of words in my head. For the sounds of words as I mouthed along. But somewhere along the way I lost how those pieces fit together. A disilusão. So I grew bored and saw the houses as spackle and drywall and not for the families that I no longer imagined inside. My life and those of the friends I had still played out in the roles of audiences in the theater of books and televisions and KDWB and yet those politicians I see on the news still represent me to the extent they now do in a feedback loop of state highways and streaming video and over speculated upon housing, spangled with the thought that we're pilgrims and birth-righted both. If Obama's a foreigner, he'll survive. At worst a special on VH1. Malia will get her time in the sky. Atticked until we burst. I couldn't find a job so I found one that I don't like. Feeling obliged to something I don't want to do. Quite a first for the former word reading boy I once were.

CIT down and take your pill
it's a hard one to swallow
But with a heart some sizes smaller
than it'll take to save Christmas
We'll find some way to inject capital
Back into the roast beast.