[continued from previous message]

Robot.

Inflat-a-Mate.

Those will be available soon, sitting on the bar stools at LeGents.

morning light
is blasting my head clean too.

"Too"? Too implies that he'd already told us about something else that >>>> the morning light was blasting clean.

Why does his head need to be cleaned? We thought that was what the
Brillo hair was for?

Are you kidding? Brillo picks up dust like nobody's business.

Just add a little water (or liquor) and Brill hair suds up fine. Brillo
Head and Shoulders cleans heads and tails.

So... basically, the speaker had gotten drunk and/or stoned, passed out >>>> either here or there, woke up contemplating whether he should return to >>>> someone or something, rambled incoherently about how his life (or the
life of someone else) passed him by... until the morning lights dimmed, >>>> blasting his head clean.

Got it. NOT!

And fell down.

And fell down over there... at the floor... over here.

Was there a dirt floor at/in/on/under/atop the shed?

It was somewhere there, but who knows where/

Morning's clearer
I've been forgetting it.

Donkey, Donkey, Donkey [shakes head], always with the pronouns. The
speaker has been forgetting what?

Forgot to put his pants on?

He had too much beer the night before and couldn't fit into them.

What happened to the favorite dress that he mentioned?

Same thing that happened to 99.9% of his wardrobe -- he outgrew it.

And how can morning be "clearer" when it had never been described as
being "unclear"?

He put his glasses on?

Your thoughts seem to stream
like a highway

Light streams. Highways don't.

He is rhyming "seem" and "stream." So unexpected!

At least this time it wasn't a dream.

But Dockery never sleeps, so how can he dream?

The dream dates from 40-ish years ago. Perhaps he was sleeping better
back then.

Who is the speaker addressing? Himself? The morning? The unidentified >>>> person whose "uncaused" and "untraced" life had passed him by?

"All or nothing at all."

Unclean heads never appealed to me. If your head going to be dirt-ee,
then I'd rather have no head at all.

He is referring to Stinky G.'s supposed Navy service, cleaning heads.
Deep meanings.

Stinky wouldn't know a head if they swirlied him in one. He thinks that
buses have latrines.

Two minutes later and the marbles were on the floor.

Playing marbles on a ship would seem to be a self-defeating game.

Not if it's smooth sailing.

dimming lights seem to streak
like hitch-hikers.

"Hitchhikers" is not hyphenated.

Why would morning lights be dimming again? Usually the ambient light
increases as the sun continues its ascent.

The laws of physics work differently in Shadowville.

Ah! Hence the shadows.

There are shadows there day and night. They don't need no sun.

And why are the hitchhikers streaking? I realize this was written in
the 70s when streaking as still a thing, but I don't believe that the
two (hitchhiking and streaking) went together.

"Sweet Hitchhiker
We could make music at the Greasy King
Sweet Hitchhiker,
Won't you ride on my fast machine?" - Creedence Clearwater Revival

Ethel? Is that you, Ethel?

Call her Mildred.

Say it isn't so, Mildred! You put your clothes on!

And even if there were dim streaks of light in your "here" (or,
possibly, "there"), how does dim light recall a hitchhiker (naked or
dressed)?

"A thumb goes up, a car goes by
It's nearly one A.M. And here am I
Hitchin' a ride, hitchin' a ride" - Vanity Fare

I hitched a ride from a Richard Pryor looking guy
He didn't have a car, so we didn't get very far
Which is neither here nor there, though I'm sure we got somewhere.

From "Shambles."

That was written by Drive-By/Jim Senetto.

The original, yes. I was quoting from the version that Will
plagiarized.

When does this dream end?

WHEN DOES THIS GODAWFUL POEM END???

It ends when it ends, and not a pile of seconds before.

I'm not joking, Donkey. A poem needs to grab, and hold, the reader's
interest. Since I have no idea what your poem is about (other than your >>>> waking up still feeling the effects of the previous night's drugs), I
have *ZERO* interest in it.

It should have been thrown "at" the floor in English class. Big f'n F
grade.

It got published in the school paper -- with a color illustration of a
mouse... or a rat... or something.

That was awful too. No one gave a rat's patootie about that
publication. It was just to keep the kids (and the ones in their 20s)
off the streets for a few hours.

It's always good to list a school paper when having your school budget approved.

I don't know who is speaking. I don't know who he's speaking to. I
don't know what he's prattling on about. Hell, I don't even know if
he's here or there.

"But who knows where or when?"

The twaddle he is twaddling he was twaddling then.

It's like he froze at a grade school level. It was the best of times.

He reached his maximum potential at the age of 10. And it's been
downhill ever since.

And, as a consequence, I cannot invest any interest (much less feelings) >>>> into his (non-) story.

The writing is beyond bad and not something anyone should be proud to
show others.

Haven't you seen the reviews for his collected poetry book? Stinky G
reviewed it twice, Danny Barfly reviewed it too. And even Will Donkey
threw in his two cents.

We wonder if George Dance has tired of footing the bill for all the
copies that Dockery gives away.

He's probably itching to publish something else. Perhaps "Portrait of a
Stink Bum as an Old Man: The Collected Poetry of Stinky G."

When do I get on up the road?

"Get on up the road"? That's not even decent backwoods slang. When
speaking about reaching a destination (literal, spiritual, etc.), one
says "down" the road. "Up" the road implies back to the start of your >>>> journey.

Unless one is lying by the side of the road, and the asphalt is quite
thick. Didn't the speaker fall down in previous stanzas?

He fell down up the rode over there
While lying here and wondering where
his life had passed him by
like a streaking hitchhiker on a streaming highway.

Live stream, trout stream, urine stream.

The light sped out
like a fire-fly

"firefly" is not hyphenated.

So the dimming, streaking, hitchhiking light is now a hastily departing >>>> firefly?

Fireflies are very slow fliers.

Okay. A relatively hasty firefly.

Mutants from the pollution in the Chattahoochee.

Pick ONE metaphor and stick with it.

That's like asking Mr. Dockery to stick with one pronoun.

Or to write three complete sentences in a row.

like gravestones
never noticed
never seen.

OMFG!

Now the dimming, streaking, hitchhiking, hastily departing firefly like >>>> light has turned into unseen gravestones???

And they are up on the road!

Gravestones! Gravestones everywhere!
Over here and over there
Up the road and at the floor
And here's some new ones coming through the door!

That sounds like New Orleans, where the caskets float.

I can't wait to discover what the morph into next.

Like marbles
spilling from shattered minds.

There it is!

They went from dimming, to streaking, to hitchhiking, to hastily
departing fireflies, to unseen gravestone, to marbles spilling from
shattered minds.

How many people can relate to marbles spilling out of minds? Lost their >>> marbles? That's a literal interpretation that is typical of immature,
cliched thinking.

Marbles spilling at my floor
I've no marbles anymore
I'd shoot for keepsies but I'm too poor
Got no marbles anymore.

They jumped ship.

And this is the end of the poem?

What was the topic? The speaker lying in the "Here" or "There"? The
unknown person he was addressing? Someone's life having passed -- or
passed by? Contemplating returning to... something? Or the bizarre
transformation of the morning light?

I would like to say that this is bad, even for you, but it's really just >>>> par for the course as Donkey poems go: incoherent, incompetently
written, and terminally uninteresting.

Did you note the title of the poem, as shown in the Carverlite Crappage? >>> "SHATT, RD" - The title describes the writing perfectly!

I'd been wondering about that.

I think that Will's dazzling editor couldn't quite make out the title
and improvised.

Or maybe the "E" key on Will's typewriter was broken.

No, that "SHATT, RD" was Michael Ehrhart's joke on Will Dockery, whom he hated. It means "Shit Road," "Shat in the Road," "Shat Turd" or even
"[That] Shit Wrote." We think it may have actually been Cujo in
disguise as Ehrhart.

It was certainly inspired.

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