Prose before Hos, or Poetry before Ho-etry

After I got of work over at where ever it is I work (not telling you, suckers) I found myself both bored and on the bus. And what, pray tell, is the cure for boredom? Herpes. (Jokes)! It's writting shitty poetry on the bus! So with out any further ado, here are two poems I wrote, which will begin a new "Ian's Poetry on the bus" thing which I will probably never do again. (Okay, with some further ado.)

NO NAME #74
Two by two these long steel snakes
swim by the window
of the number 55
flashes of irredescent color
-the shape and rhythem of letters
handstyles, and names
going home, again
to ancient household of mother and father
going home, again
like whipped and beaten pup
tail between legs
-faint smell of urine on my face
going home, again
in hopes of leaving
again


Waves of Concrete and Gallons of

I feel the pressure against my bowels
And bladder
Each bump of metal grating
Creating more force inside me
Five stops, four stops, three stops
The great hulking behemoth pauses
And snakes a turn around the corner
Five stops, four stops, three stops, two stops
I bite down hard and taste iron,
This is only temporary relief. . .
Four stops, three stops, two stops, one
Now, feet beating hard on wet concrete
Hot iron pushing in my guts
Each step rings cacophony in my body
Each step one less to take
The pace quickens, moves
More frantic
My body’s water
And earth
Screaming for escape
And home.

So, there you go. Some poetry before your ho-etry. Peace out and all that bullshit.