Stone Soup Croutons, 3-21-16, Broken Hearts Don't Sell On EBay

Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title either then or later. It's likely some of the poets I thank at the end won't even be able to figure out which lines were inspired by their work. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, the poem doesn't go up because it's good; it goes up because it's Tuesday morning. If you're name's on here, you influenced the poem in some way. If it's not your full name, that's either by request or because you didn't write your last name legibly enough.

Surat Lozowick featured last night. A different vibe was in the air during the open mic. Maybe it was Surat's guitar solos between poems. I don't know. At any rate, here is the poem.


Broken Hearts Don't Sell On EBay

Go tell your woes to the bones
on which railroads were built.

Your professional mourners
now ask for money in advance
just to say they can't be bothered.

Solace by the ocean? Whale songs
tell you they have enough problems
and to blow it out your own hole.

Your wishing star is actually Pluto
More than  you, he doesn't know
who he is anymore.

Plummeting is not as bad as you think.
It's not like you're stopping anyway.

Rock bottom's a brick bat bitch. So what?

reluctant messiah is divine redundancy,
Your tears and blood useless things.
Acting confused just spills more of both.

Writing love on your arm turns the ink
to a target.  They'll hunt you down
just to have bait to trap and kill God.

Faux prophets fuck. Real prophets get fucked.

Both labels can change  like underwear
extra pairs in pockets.

This is not a love poem for you.
It's a call to get back to work.

Another excuse to show off my terrible penmanship.

Special Thanks to Big Poppa Ben,Gawaine Ross, Martha Boss, Erik Nelson, Jonathan J. Joseph, Andrew, Priscilla, Surat Lozowick and DiDi Delgado.