What we do,
shapes the lives
that we make.
What we do,
Even the morning seems acutely somber
Broad clouded skies hold steady longer
Green leaves thick ripped from their place
Void departed relatives we save nigh space
Juxtapose this deep cutting- chilled contrast
Waiting for summer’s waning neb to fast pass
Vexed by cruel and unrelenting, stiff nature
Fool-heartedly with their lives they wager
On a single day we wish to stay the same
On forcible winds we wish to have changed
Man can live amongst this time and watch,
As he winds the seasonable swift ticking clock.
we sit behind walls to pay for sitting behind walls.
Wheels spin, no gas on deck,
armies fight wars waged for black gold;
these things are related.
Glass punctures and creates an escape,
you sit roadside with a flat-tire and deflated ego.
An IED blows off a soldier’s leg,
an obese man eats a sandwich and drinks a diet coke,
a beautiful young model hates her reflection; finding flaws;
a CEO makes money.
And no one knew the half.
a book weighs down a hand,
words play heavy on the head.
Cottonwood seeds float on thick air,
tombstones bask in the sun.
So far away no voice could reach;
even so not of native tongues.
Days we have lost and the one that just began,
my toast is burnt,
furniture sits un-rearranged.
Affects leave me unchanged;
for certain of, same, -oh distaste.
Life goes on
a cat meows
a clock ticks
the heat moves in and settles down
Fall is here.
Only this time it’s without you.
I wish I could tell you about that.
alerted bolt upright by a sticky sheet situation,
first hours of the day
eggs toast and hot sauce
back pains and skin stuck to the bed.
radio conveying news, noise, whatever…
life has been brought to my attention -social media-
ladies promoting sexism; life venting on things, ironically, whatever…
moving stirring sitting standing
fresh tattoos peel and feel like sunburns,
still drying to some extent.
packing bags, fingering keys, opening doors,
one way to the bathroom for relief
fake leather gloss on my bike seat
read something, anything—Nietzsche.
shower, shit, don’t shave
set- stare in the mirror,
look down to feet
making way, avoiding the cat and debris,
dust filled rooms, draw shades no heat relief.
sink filled with grease,
pressures such as time, hypocrites, saboteurs, hunger, cleanliness–… oh, and NEEDS.
hang about dizzy-clogged head
I should have stayed in bed
I should have stayed in bed.
the downtown life;
concrete jungle summer,
new-comers and city lovers.
the space betwixt is a waiting room for action:
excitement for concern,
and trash abandoned.
business casual, with cash they flirt,
although beggars with signs ask first.
there is always art, music, and thought to sell.
waiting is the pedestrian,
some adventure sought:
tourist; look at the mess we’re in!
bus-stop theatre, a show free of cost.
completely and utterly lost,
sticking out like sore thumb,
through structures which shoot into the heavens;
box shaped, corporate; of consequence.
hotter than hell,
clothes transforming to shells.
spells, smells, and potions.
and buzzing busy waiters and waitresses.
causing big eyes-
on pretty flesh;
a meaningful, forever, sentiment- lined sketch.
For life, for death,
a canvass to test,
bold bright colors; judgment: pretense.
Now art, now unique, now taut puffed; hurt when pressed.
Self-inflicted wounds to heal,
paying for this pain,
stories etched on the surface;
Now, what do yours mean? …
Everyone is jumping off of that bridge,
So I packed a parachute and lit a smoke- see?