even if you lose,
5:12 AM a teapot steams and sputters,
wet me and drying hair,
i’ve been told they needed something to escape.
the furnace rumbles to a start,
to a certain temperature–it has a point.
machine better than most people.
Katy bar the door on things.
i am thankful that i worked hard
as a child–being brought up,
i feel that unlike my contemporaries
i could handle the outcome of an election,
the outcome of not getting what i want,
had i voted differently,
had i actually cared about results
that didn’t really do more than i did.
thanks dad. and what does that amount to?
some teapot and hanging drape,
teaching English in another day all the same.
what are countries anyway?
5:12 AM, made it, sore tooth, jaw killing,
take meds, fallible and flawed and dying,
i see, i hear.
this green tea in me for the better.
i suppose it’s better for you too.
i am either
i wish for the opportunity, the privilege rather, to have grave concerns for what mankind about me,
in ways of fortune and prosper for all, but alas, a roiled monster lives in my boots, an insatiable unctuous grey leech takes my rent,
and my daylight toils are endless to purchase a mere breath above clouded water’s crest;
perhaps i am not sure i am equiped. I might be occupied by just my self. call it my grave concerns.
tear the plastic
to your life!
no matter my surroundings
i find myself there.
you know what?
flowers do matter.
i bought no flowers,
i had no money,
about that and how it worked…
each year when we were little,
my dad would send flowers
to me and my sisters
at the time
i found it odd to get roses
from my dad…
my sister reminded me of this
in a text.
i said yes.
thought about consumerism and cards
and how they weren’t flowers.
how i thought flowers
i told her i missed him.
then i thought about it
and how i should take some flowers
to his grave.
one time yesterday between taxes and a phone conversation with my wife about ear infections and successful weekends i witnessed a state sponsored group hanging signs against state sponsored things, i thought Soros and let me take a picture of the palisades and pillars which they circumvent, let me rest easy in their pulped trees and how the stapler to this meaningful act makes its clack, let me, let me, let me think about external costs and how no one reads beyond what they think is their oh-so good intention. thankfully i had a crystal signal and positive thoughts; heard more about it when my colleague picked up that neon green trash and let them have it again too. i am glad for relation, and humor. it was good. they were three, they were shortsighted, they were talking very big about something they read the headline to but forgot the paragraphs after, i was better for viewing and thinking and sauntering in circles on the mall. ideologies and group think and fliers and signs and sponsors behind them, waiting between the lines, but their audience has no idea, just do, do, react.
as any uniquely flawed machine
i am toilet seat left up,
i am words that sour like trash,
i am defined by my malfunctions.
every day another anything to make.
and it’s still my greasy buttons
and bent wires that cross wrongly
which make those things happen
the way how they so exactly do…
uniquely flawed machine am i,
that does not a good human being make,
but one that only does and tells.
but one that i am sure you can relate.
fast, here is defenestrated glass
and her shrill sudden screams;
here is me sitting bolt upright,
there came my curtailed dreams…
(to the front of the house.)