Chris Sumberg
Some "micro poems" from Chris Sumberg, well published in little magazines,
resident of our nation's Nuclear Capital, Oak Ridge, TN, can be reached at
sumberg@usit.net.
Idiot?
My voice screaming:
You'll die!
You'll die!
Hostage, Failure,
Doom!-
Debt!-
Death!
Then TV saves me
with dreams of minty breath.
**************
Checked
Perfection's for the dull
and unforgiving.
(I see
that's unforgiving.)
**************
Debt vs Dog
The dog was expensive.
They had to have him.
A leg here,
a nose there.
**************
Ding
I'm an *ummm*, a fullish,
smallish* ahhhhh*.
Near-word:
*Hmn*
like
that lady's *tch*,
that baby's *phraaap!*
Just like the world,
full of unexplained crap.
**************
Feral Lunchbreak
Revved-up psycho chewing
cheese 'n' gristle sandwich,
mouth and jowls jouncing:
boing-boing boing-boing-boing.
**************
Mundane
Trivia, my Sancho Panza,
your words are doom,
etc.
I can put myself on
the pedestal. Just by
saying pedestal.
I'm way up there now,
a little shelf
smooth and distant.
**************
Nerve
This world of worms
gets me
squirming like a snake.
**************
My Job Before Being A Janitor
The fast food deli.
I worked with Hermoine
and Duane.
Hermoine ate pie.
Duane weighed less
than thirty-five pounds.
They were going to make me
manager--
the owners.
Told me what
a good
sound
business
making
sandwiches was--
offered to sell me
the whole fucking
chain.
But I had to learn
everything in a day,
wear a yellow shirt,
a muscle-bound hoagie
scorched across it,
and a yellow visor,
my ears sticking out
handles on a jug.
So
I worked for four hours,
squirting oil
and vinegar on white bread.
Around noon I quit,
Then I became a janitor.
The rest,
I believe,
is history.
**************
Opportunity Galore
In the train,
we all think it, but
no one pulls the cord.
**************
The Organs of Genius Are Louder
Yeah, yeah.
It's easy to run:
Minor keys.
Bach saw rough winters
with too many kids.
**************
Chris Sumberg