Time is of the essence
We have now and others don’t
The mail comes in
Heavy, in boxes
Full of books
People count on efficiency
This is now
Time never ends, but when it does
Patrons to service
Phone calls to make
Papers to print
The life, the day, the dollar, the request
Projects and process
Building this knowledge
No one regrets
Nothing to fret
Days and what we do
Define me and you
The only proof lies in a check
Electronic deposit, hardly noticed notion
Who does anyway?
This is incredibly easy to forget.
Time is of the essence
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.
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?
Have a great day, make it that way.
Cold shower and fresh fruit,
Radio’s on to get the scoop.
Come dressed in Sunday best.
Blessed, whatever that means.
The little things__
Counting clouds in the sky, as we are biking by,
Minnesota streets; avoid pot-holes in between.
Big warm sun overhead,
Oh! To leave pleasant bed.
The life we lead;
Not the life we could have led.
The words we’ve read.
Making what you can out of what you have, this day-
For no reason at all.
walking amongst trash, others, and pigeons.
To self- no words
Same city we live in.
Spending money there and here,
Names for affluence, titles, labels, and idea appear.
Sharing air, space, and time;
Random moments in life aligned.
Yet they are hardly noticed.
Soft sun smell; triggered warm refuse
Familiar with no one close-
view the metropolitan recluse.