Sunday, July 11, 2021
She is They
They smiled like the cousin you knew and talked like a boar
I wonder what happened to him
My cousin that is,
But she, well pardon me, they, shoved their hands up my ass
and I thanked them for it.
At what point does someone become so self absorbed
That they deserve plurality.
More than those around them. I thought we were equal.
Could it be true that,
I am he and you are she but they are one and more than us.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Almost Home
Fall has come and with it the dryness of north winds.
October can be a busy month for business men,
flying to Chicago, Calgary, LA and back again.
I walk the dog, while my wife prepares for bed.
“Did you pack your medicine,” last words she said.
“Yes.” I replied before walking out the door.
The air is cool and the moon bright above,
slow last moments before sleep comes,
and in the morning, a chaotic rush.
I love the chaos though, TSA and all;
like ships through Panama’s locks,
while carrying on cocky conversations over scotch.
But trips become tiring quickly, out there alone,
the chaos to return can never go fast enough
For the weary business man wanting for home
I look up to a roar, and the dog looks up too.
Close enough almost to touch, a plane flies over,
crashing the night’s silence, a banshee in silver and blue.
I think of my wife, whom I’ll miss tomorrow.
But you won’t see her sorrow or grieving,
Since she can’t stop forgiving me for leaving.
And I know someone on that plane is returning
from a business trip to Paris, New York or Rome,
and I speak to the plane as it’s turning out of sight
Don’t worry sir or madam, you’re almost home tonight
October can be a busy month for business men,
flying to Chicago, Calgary, LA and back again.
I walk the dog, while my wife prepares for bed.
“Did you pack your medicine,” last words she said.
“Yes.” I replied before walking out the door.
The air is cool and the moon bright above,
slow last moments before sleep comes,
and in the morning, a chaotic rush.
I love the chaos though, TSA and all;
like ships through Panama’s locks,
while carrying on cocky conversations over scotch.
But trips become tiring quickly, out there alone,
the chaos to return can never go fast enough
For the weary business man wanting for home
I look up to a roar, and the dog looks up too.
Close enough almost to touch, a plane flies over,
crashing the night’s silence, a banshee in silver and blue.
I think of my wife, whom I’ll miss tomorrow.
But you won’t see her sorrow or grieving,
Since she can’t stop forgiving me for leaving.
And I know someone on that plane is returning
from a business trip to Paris, New York or Rome,
and I speak to the plane as it’s turning out of sight
Don’t worry sir or madam, you’re almost home tonight
Friday, August 5, 2011
Time
April’s moonlit shores break on summer’s blistered beach
Crippled timelines shrivel; The city’s melded minds have bleached
Summer’s sweet lullaby shivers a breeze October
Falling leaves softly land giving green grass cover.
Careless knowing and naïve wanting
Lead forever to your own mind haunting
The corners of time’s sweet mystery;
Put you in front of endless history
The circles seem like lines
In the boring man’s mind
Dimensions deeper than the sea
Are how time flows for me
Welcome deathly chills met with the white light of snow
In timelines dead and gone, the city’s minds will grow
And tomorrow’s not today but spring was yesterday
Tortured teenage timelines whisper “please go my way”
Crippled timelines shrivel; The city’s melded minds have bleached
Summer’s sweet lullaby shivers a breeze October
Falling leaves softly land giving green grass cover.
Careless knowing and naïve wanting
Lead forever to your own mind haunting
The corners of time’s sweet mystery;
Put you in front of endless history
The circles seem like lines
In the boring man’s mind
Dimensions deeper than the sea
Are how time flows for me
Welcome deathly chills met with the white light of snow
In timelines dead and gone, the city’s minds will grow
And tomorrow’s not today but spring was yesterday
Tortured teenage timelines whisper “please go my way”
Monday, July 18, 2011
Toothpaste Man
A passionate man has an idea.
It swells inside him, filling him,
pushing out his thoughts,
like toothpaste from his ears.
He tosses and turns
unable to sleep
unable to think
of anything
but the idea.
A mosquito, true southern ninja,
phantom of the humidity, sneaks a bite on his leg.
A minute later he notices the itch,
and if it weren’t for the idea he’d probably be bothered.
Outside in the heat, a woman wanders the apartments.
She yammers with mean sarcasm into her phone.
Her free hand up in the air as if to show her phone partner
She’s confused.
The noise might’ve bothered the man if it weren’t
For the damned idea. Can’t it give him some peace?
The thumping bass line of bad R&B echoes from
A parking lot across the street. The driver lost his brother
And his father before he was in high school
and is confident he’ll sleep with the bartender tonight.
But the toothpaste man will not be sleeping in any way
because a sick rabbit can’t hear the snake rustle the grass nor can
a bored people remember their God as he cries for them.
It swells inside him, filling him,
pushing out his thoughts,
like toothpaste from his ears.
He tosses and turns
unable to sleep
unable to think
of anything
but the idea.
A mosquito, true southern ninja,
phantom of the humidity, sneaks a bite on his leg.
A minute later he notices the itch,
and if it weren’t for the idea he’d probably be bothered.
Outside in the heat, a woman wanders the apartments.
She yammers with mean sarcasm into her phone.
Her free hand up in the air as if to show her phone partner
She’s confused.
The noise might’ve bothered the man if it weren’t
For the damned idea. Can’t it give him some peace?
The thumping bass line of bad R&B echoes from
A parking lot across the street. The driver lost his brother
And his father before he was in high school
and is confident he’ll sleep with the bartender tonight.
But the toothpaste man will not be sleeping in any way
because a sick rabbit can’t hear the snake rustle the grass nor can
a bored people remember their God as he cries for them.
It's So Hot Outside
It’s so hot outside.
Things wouldn’t be so tough,
and I might not have lied,
if It wasn’t so damn hot outside.
Our team might have won,
we’d of probably had fun,
if only the clouds would’ve helped us
by covering the sun
It makes a fella want to run.
It makes a fella want to hide,
but it’s just too damn hot outside.
Things wouldn’t be so tough,
and I might not have lied,
if It wasn’t so damn hot outside.
Our team might have won,
we’d of probably had fun,
if only the clouds would’ve helped us
by covering the sun
It makes a fella want to run.
It makes a fella want to hide,
but it’s just too damn hot outside.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
The Battle
A breeze lifts some trash on a desolate downtown road.
It flops to a greasy slap against a thumping building,
the heart beating building of a body with no veins or arteries.
The windowless beating monolith stands proud and
the greasy trash pulls away, looks far down the road
and sees a door open where three men emerge.
The suited, sunglassed trio set their ties and step toward the monolith.
Their heels click the concrete like soft chalk, their gaze unwavering.
Their ears perk with each thump from the faceless stone beast.
Caring: “Id’s not going to be happy about this.”
Conscience: “It’s time to stop him”
Honor: “Whatever happens…don’t miss.”
The greasy flopping trash topples toward the trio,
and dodges right, earning the glance of Caring.
Then Conscience looks up into the sun,
deep into the yellow spinning a small black hole appears,
And setting his feet he stares harder.
The other two stop and watch him.
The blackness grows and color appears in the center,
slowly taking shape into something familiar,
a face,
the face,
of their God
standing in front of a mirror
sagging blue bags pull his bloodshot eyes
The God looks into his quivering eyes and prays he can change
The trio look back at the building and their calm clicks
quickly hurry to a pace of frenzied professors reciting theorems.
They throw open the door and meet blackness incarnate.
The room, forty stories high,
thick with the smell of sweat and booze,
stops silent. First time in five straight years.
They remove their sunglasses
and there in the center was the beast.
Id growled and threw three women off of him
They landed crashing into glass tables covered in drugs and booze
Id stood as the proud monolith, producing his silver pistol and fired
The three pulled their weapons and returned fire.
Caring crumpled to the ground in a pool of his own blood.
Honor stepped out of the blood and tried to flank Id
but quickly landed on the floor with a hole through his eye.
The firing stopped
Id: “You’re too late.” And pointed to the door.
Conscience ran to the street and stared into the sun.
God held the needle in his teeth as he tied the tourniquet
And as the God’s mind retreated he heard a single word repeating.
The flopping greasy trash looked back behind and saw the
suited man, bloodied and beaten screaming over and over.
Conscience: “Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”
Id ran out of the building and shielded his eyes from the sun
covered his ears from the screams
and a tear fell from his eye
quietly crashing on the chalky concrete
The sound of sobbing could be heard from the sun and the rain released.
The single suited man, holstered his weapon and walked back down the road.
The greasy trash flipped one last flop onto a wave bound for a gutter
and the streets were clean again.
It flops to a greasy slap against a thumping building,
the heart beating building of a body with no veins or arteries.
The windowless beating monolith stands proud and
the greasy trash pulls away, looks far down the road
and sees a door open where three men emerge.
The suited, sunglassed trio set their ties and step toward the monolith.
Their heels click the concrete like soft chalk, their gaze unwavering.
Their ears perk with each thump from the faceless stone beast.
Caring: “Id’s not going to be happy about this.”
Conscience: “It’s time to stop him”
Honor: “Whatever happens…don’t miss.”
The greasy flopping trash topples toward the trio,
and dodges right, earning the glance of Caring.
Then Conscience looks up into the sun,
deep into the yellow spinning a small black hole appears,
And setting his feet he stares harder.
The other two stop and watch him.
The blackness grows and color appears in the center,
slowly taking shape into something familiar,
a face,
the face,
of their God
standing in front of a mirror
sagging blue bags pull his bloodshot eyes
The God looks into his quivering eyes and prays he can change
The trio look back at the building and their calm clicks
quickly hurry to a pace of frenzied professors reciting theorems.
They throw open the door and meet blackness incarnate.
The room, forty stories high,
thick with the smell of sweat and booze,
stops silent. First time in five straight years.
They remove their sunglasses
and there in the center was the beast.
Id growled and threw three women off of him
They landed crashing into glass tables covered in drugs and booze
Id stood as the proud monolith, producing his silver pistol and fired
The three pulled their weapons and returned fire.
Caring crumpled to the ground in a pool of his own blood.
Honor stepped out of the blood and tried to flank Id
but quickly landed on the floor with a hole through his eye.
The firing stopped
Id: “You’re too late.” And pointed to the door.
Conscience ran to the street and stared into the sun.
God held the needle in his teeth as he tied the tourniquet
And as the God’s mind retreated he heard a single word repeating.
The flopping greasy trash looked back behind and saw the
suited man, bloodied and beaten screaming over and over.
Conscience: “Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”
Id ran out of the building and shielded his eyes from the sun
covered his ears from the screams
and a tear fell from his eye
quietly crashing on the chalky concrete
The sound of sobbing could be heard from the sun and the rain released.
The single suited man, holstered his weapon and walked back down the road.
The greasy trash flipped one last flop onto a wave bound for a gutter
and the streets were clean again.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Impossible Game
I walk across the field.
In the distance, across the cold dew
The green grass and the fog too
The grey shadowy, blurry rocks
Holding the top of the ancient and unused well.
A deep breath in, of cold.
I feel warm inside though
I need only my own soul.
The tree line in the distance
Carves out a circle around me
A green bull’s-eye in a dream.
I reach the center.
I reach into my pocket
The jeans try to tear my skin
At the bottom of the pocket are stones
and I feel the round round cold.
I press it between my thick fat fingers
Pull and look at it; my head on a swivel
I seem like a giant, a freak to this pebble
The well now feels small.
I must, drop the pebble in the well.
Blood pushing backwards through a syringe.
My sneakers crush the bull’s-eye park
I take a knee and close one eye.
Ready to release to the mark.
I see the hole and release the atom pebble.
No breath. Don’t screw this up.
Tiredness hits and I fall
The world seems bigger than me again , I exhale.
I crush the trees and forest and crash to my side.
I look across from where I lie.
I see the loose hatch of wood and weed.
Brown and green: the colors of life
fill my blue right eye.
I focus on a fallen wood log
splintered in large sections. The blackness
between planks is deepening.
I stare and fall in.
Smaller and smaller
I can feel it pulling me in. I must remember
to look out for foxes at this size.
“I don’t want to go in!”
I jump away from the black and sit under the log.
It’s hiding me now, as I sit next to the leaves.
I tuck up my knees and in come the clouds of fog.
I shouldn’t have been allowed to play this game.
I will just hide now. The sun streak hits my forehead.
And I finally release.
In the distance, across the cold dew
The green grass and the fog too
The grey shadowy, blurry rocks
Holding the top of the ancient and unused well.
A deep breath in, of cold.
I feel warm inside though
I need only my own soul.
The tree line in the distance
Carves out a circle around me
A green bull’s-eye in a dream.
I reach the center.
I reach into my pocket
The jeans try to tear my skin
At the bottom of the pocket are stones
and I feel the round round cold.
I press it between my thick fat fingers
Pull and look at it; my head on a swivel
I seem like a giant, a freak to this pebble
The well now feels small.
I must, drop the pebble in the well.
Blood pushing backwards through a syringe.
My sneakers crush the bull’s-eye park
I take a knee and close one eye.
Ready to release to the mark.
I see the hole and release the atom pebble.
No breath. Don’t screw this up.
Tiredness hits and I fall
The world seems bigger than me again , I exhale.
I crush the trees and forest and crash to my side.
I look across from where I lie.
I see the loose hatch of wood and weed.
Brown and green: the colors of life
fill my blue right eye.
I focus on a fallen wood log
splintered in large sections. The blackness
between planks is deepening.
I stare and fall in.
Smaller and smaller
I can feel it pulling me in. I must remember
to look out for foxes at this size.
“I don’t want to go in!”
I jump away from the black and sit under the log.
It’s hiding me now, as I sit next to the leaves.
I tuck up my knees and in come the clouds of fog.
I shouldn’t have been allowed to play this game.
I will just hide now. The sun streak hits my forehead.
And I finally release.
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