Future generations will cough, choke, and hate our guts.

Hey, some of us all around the world are doing that now. Cough, and Choke, headache from the smell, Sinus clog up. All sorts of medical issues.  Exhaust smells bad. So let me begin with this—

*I Want To Tell You Today

Some Thoughts from Yesterday.

Stop this entire one to a car driving. No blood for oil. Stop this one to a car driving. It smells pig. No blood for oil. Stop one to a car driving. No blood for oil. No coughing and choking for oil. A real big problem brought about by many smalls. UPU. Stop one to a car driving. Sucking tick up the air causing all sorts of problems. Stop one to a car to driving. It smells greedy pig. No blood for oil. No choke for oil. You love oil, take a drink. Stop one to a car driving you’re stinking up the air, dirty trick foul breath, exhaust exhale knock me over. Stop one to a car driving dirty little piglet, oink, oink, honk, honk silly goose who do not care. Stop flowing blood for oil. Remove your foot from the pedal, use your own shoe leather. Stop one to a car driving. It smells pig. No one to a car driving, greedy little piglet, oinking, honking, silly,greedy,bloody oil, goose. Too many cars, too many people. Take a bus. Stop One to a car driving. Just maybe, baby while you are at it keep you legs closed and your zippers up for a generation or so. 

Should our world care if you can’t get there?

Get on time by walking baby! Start out at 5:00 AM. Whistle while you walk. No care, no care. Take a rest, listen to the birds wake up. Fall asleep a ha, ha for you, miss out on all a day’s activity. Lazy from sitting on your butt, tired from using your feet, corns, blisters silly little piglet. No one to a car driving this morning, no bloody oil hogs. Honk, Honk, Honk, Honk, creeping all over the world. Oh I wish from a bazooka. Pop your tires. Blow your bananas out of the tree. Slippery skins. Roadway slide into the gutter. And tell me what do you think of that, need a bath, rolled in shit, doggy, dog?

***this poem has been rejected in more places than I can count. Guess the liberal/progressive one to a car drivers don’t like a finger pointing at them.

OR maybe its a poor Dada poem.*   

This is updated from the orginal published in Vol. 1 July 2005, Zine by Cell 9.