ode to the lazy one
by Roger Mugs
itsa been a bit
since’n we dun
hangyid out
yidiot
tiggerjerbs
Connection points are often stressed
when maintainence is cast in to the bit
where items not maintained are cast,
and then the irony sets in.
Stress causes tension, which can
(sometimes) create music, but more
often than not it’s easier to cut ties
than to pluck strings, so we go for
the former, rather simpler way about
things
When strings running over long
(truly or precieved) distances snap
is when you find out hard it is to
get those lines to run again
Serpentine through mountainsides
Tree laden, sun kissed, and untouched
By nothing short of wonder—
The deafening call of silence,
And we heard it loud and clear.
Hidden somewhere among
The madness, the blind, and the wide eyed
They were waiting to awake,
And teeming with life unseen.
To trundle over landscapes,
Rock ridges, and magical doors—
But here, the key,
Imagination.
There are still dirt driveways
In our fairy tale,
Building bridges to animals,
Ogres and angels.
Toward eternity we tried to outrun the night,
Racing on with unsaddled steeds,
Hoping day would never end—
Like a child who believes
The whole world stops and waits for her
When she shuts her eyes.
i want to romance you
from the freezer to my hand
to taste you after i pop
open your lid
wrap my lips around
your tip
take you in
i want to feel you
slowly work your way
through my blood
to my brain
and let you romance me
before i reach for your friend
Sometimes I forget what words like
‘propensity’ mean, yet scarcely do I
find a need to find a definition for a
word I use so rarely that I sometimes
fail to understand it’s meaning.
Although, I often find your own
propensity to using words you hardly
have a handle on quite aggravating,
particularly when often times, I find
you missing quite a couple little ones.
A funny thing,
propensity,
defined.
these are you tears
i’ve kept them in my
jar of a memory
to pour out on your ashes
as you pass from this
world to the next
the imagery is unclear
and thats how i want
to remember you
they say they are drugs
and that they do nothin’
but bad,
unless they filter it through
the bureaucracy and all of their
committees and sheets of
paper thick with molasses.
i, say, i love you all when
my little white friends drift
lazily down my throat.
i say that i’m at 100% when my
good old friends sit around
on velvet couches and chat
about things that make us happy
resting our feet on a coffee table
made of pure opium.
doodoodododoot
dodoot dodoot doot dadoot doot
doodoodododoot
dodoot dodoot doot dadoot doo doot.
i say my vein lines vibrate like
bass lines when i’m high
and i am at one with lower
pitches and the smoother licks
that life brings. i say that the
cold rain up against my face
trickles down to my spine and
is smile inducing at times.
hey, senator man, church man,
why don’t you let loose?
you wouldn’t think it poison if
you saw how it makes you
more alive.
after the day a million nocturnal Things
begin to run around in my head
all of the Things and their parents
make such a loud and awful racket
although I am told the Things are
me and I am them and we are all
together,
I have a hard time thinking when
the Things are running their mucks
the Things fight and argue a million
little Thing things,
leaving me all around my room
on different corners of the globe and
so-on
and
when you hear things come out of
my mouth sometimes the Things
slip out and I can’t explain how
it is just
not
me
the birds are sleeping somewhere
around in bushes and hedges along
the sidewalks of michigan,
and today was the first day that the
snow snuck it’s way down in the
rain…
tomorrow is the day that we all sit
and pray and say thanks to the real
big Thing upstairs and for all of the
little to medium-sized Things we have
permanently made in our 3d world
or in our heads, or for the people
that we think we know or that think
they know themselves. and every day
is another that the Things in my head
will spend erasing my memory.
for wife and children
for home and warmth (or something close to it)
for hope
for futures
for friends
for american freaking awesome football
for donuts
for beer
for the hope of better beer someday
for You
for today
for bikes
for health
for comfort
for parental units
for the interwebs
for peace
for quiet
for joy
for the written word
for Your word
The tryptophan in turkey
“Experts” now say
Is not in large enough quantities
To cause drowsiness
Upon consumption.
Well dang it!
Why do you have to ruin my excuse?
I was perfectly content to say
I’m too tired
To clean up after the meal.
Opting instead to pat my bloated belly
And nap on the couch
During the football game.
(I say nap because the Lions are playing.)
Leave me and my placebo effect alone,
Will you?
Stepping firmly in a long black coat
and a wide-brimmed hat when it’s raining,
refusing to bow his head to any man,
woman, or precipitation, even
if the wind picks up just enough
that his hat is caught up and flies
unobstructed through fresh, wet air
down the city streets.
He’s looking ’round at everything
and everyone that’s looking back at
him (and that is everyone, as no
one dares to try and look away),
taking in the truth of life
and every other little, relatively
unimportant detail.
and the Illustrious Mr. Wilson knows
exactly what is weighing on the mind
of every soul in every crowd he finds,
people swarming over little pieces of
blacktop and garden and existential
bullshit wondering why they’re really
swarming and how long they’ll all swarm for.
Seeing all things reconsidered, Mr. Wilson
wanders through the rain and swarm
and wind, ignoring flying hats and
all the heavy things on peoples minds
and smiling, always smiling, knowing
all the while, he’ll find his way to
sunshine
There’s something to be
said
about
being
sick and tired
of being
sick
and tired.
The main problem
being, however
that the
thing
to
be
said,
is sure damn
tiring to say.
Difficulty phrasing
can be more painful
than the worst Indian Burn you ever
got from your uncle
when you were a kid.
But only, I suppose,
if you fancy yourself as
having a way with words.
I went through those tran
sitional phases, where you
stutter just a bit because you
haven’t quite calibrated the differences
in the speed at which your
brain thinks, and your mouth
moves.
Now things are all lined up,
though.
Now I talk just when
I want the words to come out,
and not an instant
prior.
But even now,
it’s hard to
bring
myself
to use up
all that
(precious)
energy
saying something
that I really don’t
have
to say.
Somewhere in the middle
It becomes difficult
(Impossible)
To tell
Right from Left
And once consumed
There’s really no escaping—
At least, until,
The damage is done
Like a fog and underwater—
Still able to breathe
But unsure if it’s air—
Equilibrium thrown
Off/On?
Decisions suspect
Inhibitions to surely distrust
Questionably dubious—
Choices to be made—
Short supply/limited quantity
And are they even right?
There are times when I don’t need your
patronizing my every
word or move or pensive stance.
Times when I can carry my
verbosity and end up landing on
my own two feet.
And there are times
when the strange thoughts
I tend to string together make
just enough sense to just enough
of us, that it wasn’t such a complete
waste of everyone’s time sitting
around and listening ’till 4 A.M.
Do you remember when we used
to think we knew each other?
I keep looking across the room at you
hardly believing you could ever
be the same person I went to school with
all those years ago.
Do I know you? I must.
Because even though you
look a little different, you smell
just the same, and I guess my
face will have to be sore,
‘cuz goodness knows
I certainly can’t stop smiling.
So let’s get this straight:
Most of the time you’re a jerk
But I still love you.
these bags of yours
you drag around
dumping pieces you’ve collected
on all your friends
i’d say we like your crap
but i’m sick of lying
Call off the dogs.
Stand down men,
The hunt has been suspended.
Lower your weapons,
Relax your jaws,
And open your fists.
Bury your accusations.
Tonight the finger pointing ends.
So stand down men,
Stand down.
i met a girl in my dreams who whispered
in my ear as the wind picked up and
weaved and flowed beneath my hands
clung tight to the grips i’ve been holding
to keep me from falling off this cliff
and loosened it enough as a final re
minder that yes, indeed,
the time has come. do you want to
know what she said though? she said
“nín hǎo” and she was like
breathing on a window and drawing
a heart and seeing it there when
you wash your car. i swear, too,
that i saw her one day and i
feared i might lose my job
or my pride or my kids or
my wife or my mortage or
my bed or my blankets or
my sedentary life-style if i
went up to her and said “hi.”
so i didn’t,
but i will.
Three hours under hot lights does
funny things to your thought-process.
Soon it’s keys and notes and stops and
starts and ones and twos and threes and
fours and then it’s nothing.
Nothing but the melody.
(and, perhaps, a bit of rhythm)
i forgot how cold can permeate
every little layer of epidermis
making even the heart cold
just leaving room to be warmed
by the beauty of the communal
suffering making life epic as we
live it together hoping together
we’ll survive the night
all of us
The heat’s on high, the water starts
boiling,
boiling,
boiling,
boiling,
running over edges on to ranges
surely ain’t been cleaned off in ages
but not a lot to worry about:
Water stains always come out
of metal
life is an ouroboros
or: ouroouroouroorououro
ouroouroouroouroouro
ouroouroouroouroborus etc.
why? well,
love is blind! things of
that nature, like,
christian capitalists…
like, freedom.
like, how…youth is wasted
on us poor folk. spent endlessly
drudging through homework and
work at the minimum wage legally
allowed to pay a human being
and spent not experiencing
anything, unless, of course
you are a hippy,
drug-addict,
good-for-nothing,
hobo. of course.
in america, freedom is most
surely dead.
for if i were to sit in one
spot i would be sued or
some such legal rigmarole,
though, that is all i really
wanna do (to sit in one spot,
not to get sued).
Dawn unzippers the veil of night
Unsheathing the cowl of lambent sun
Tendrils of radiance coil into view
Swelling over the desolate remains
To go before the feet led by light
To voices that exclaim their presence
And a response is proclaimed
The unfurling daybreak directs as a hand
Miasma and hesitation disperse
Though scorched and dispirited
Respite and amelioration surge
From the everlasting tributaries
And amid breaches of devastation
Stems twirl arduously toward renewal
Bringing abundant healing in all homelands
Enveloping to embrace the whole earth
I’ll never know her name
You’ll never tell me.
She’ll keep taunting me anonymously
Otherwise I would have a name to my hate.
Holding on to one last piece
And you want me to forgive you?
Let go then,
Stop protecting your sin.
What did you think would happen
When you drove a stake of betrayal
Into the heart of your family’s foundation?
Did you think we would welcome you back
With an open armed embrace?
Saying, ‘it’s okay, everyone’s fallible?’
How couldn’t you see the line
When you crossed it?
Don’t enter here
Believing you have a home anymore.
You and your guilt will sleep on the couch.
its true and you know it
humility would be a lie
our words bring you inspiration
to your knees you fall and beg
for more turning page after
page hoping for another letter
written as well as the last and
shocked you notice the hours
have passed and you’re not
writing that book they’re paying you
for instead you’re stuck in the sieve
in awe as each grain of sand
glides on through and you’re jealous
to be humble would be to lie
your hands aren’t here bringing
verse to those in need instead you’ve
dedicated yourself to money instead
of daily brilliance
(wish we had both sometimes)
but even though the bastards never
notice and i can call them that because
this isn’t some creating writing department
of a larger institution that’s going to reject
my request for the major simply because
i curse them out in four short poems
boasting of my invincible awesomeness
no this is our territory and if you don’t want
in then get the crap out because these
words aren’t for the faint of heart
they’re here to remind you that it is us
who paid the nearly ten dollars to own
this piece of web real estate and we’ll
write on it exactly what we mean
mistakes in all just to stick it you
(the man)
and one day when one of the twelve
of us however many there are actually
makes it somewhere big in this world
well he’ll look back and say it was there
and hopefully he’ll buy me lunch
i’d really love it if someone bought me lunch
It’s not always an
interesting last name
putting you at the bottom
of every list.
Just saying.
but since this sun’s shining
i’m stepping off this sidewalk
i lie flat on my back on the grass
let the wind light leaves
kiss sweet my eyelids
until compelled i open them
and view the vast blue sky through
these tangled branches bared bravely for winter
on the horizon:
i aspire to be those contrails
to drift and disappear
I’ve only got so much precious
time, and not enough of it to
spend doling out semiprecious money,
so please wander back inside where
the calls are free (I’m not driving
you to a pay-phone), and make your
local connect. Otherwise, flag down
any one of our fine Boys In Blue, and
inform them of your situation (that you
left your boyfriend’s house – 2
months pregnant at that – for fear
of rape, and you walked this far looking
for someone to help you get a ride,
at twelve forty-five in the morning, never
mind the 24-hour cafe two blocks from
where you supposedly used to live,
and that you’re assuredly not a crackhed,).
I’m sure they’ll take you- if not exactly
where you want to be,
then at least right where you ought to go.
It’s no problem.
I realize you don’t have the guts.
Good for you.
Integrity is a virtue, right?
Right?
But then again—
Imagine the possibilities.
That would be awfully amusing.
And after all, who would know?
Yeah, it’ll be fine.
Go for it.
They won’t even notice.
It wouldn’t matter if they did.
Don’t be a coward.
You’re not a coward are you?
C’mon, do it.
You deserve this.
Suggestions like straws are dropped.
I listen and you break my back.
