you look for things you know hope you can do
seeking definition in your action
but alas
“homemade roach motels”
seems like a niche already spoken for.

of this 16 year old guard
too smart for high school
but not bright enough to finish.

he works hard for $3 a day
and sits atop this bench.
his girlfriend visiting with a bowl of noodles
swinging his too-short-to-touch-the-ground feet
inches over the brick

and I’m lost for words at his hope.
too small to get me through till lunch,
but big enough to make him every day smile.
open and close the gate
420 times per day for the next 44 years
till his grandson does the same

well enough to support him.

swing your feet. enjoy your noodles.

about you but i wont tell because you
made me promise i’d hold it as a secret
close to my heart. so i act like i care.

i act like high schoolers in love and think
it’s so real. it was real wasn’t it?

green grass under my newly shod feet
brought me wonder at the improvement
in my soccer in the purchase of soccer shoes.

black pavement under my newly equipped feet
brought me wonder at the improvement
in my skateboarding in the purchase of a real board.

and today i looked to you anew
i shook from bed to floor in your presence
and standing in awe saw an ever so subtle
change, enough to bring a reality check to this day.

knowing i am small. so very very insignificant
without something bigger for which to live.

ha!
you filled my mind this morning with dreams
of sheer terror and loss only to find myself
waking in a cold sweat finding she’s still here.
she hasn’t left me.

i awoke – due to dread – overwhelmed with
thanksgiving and remembered my life’s call
is to hear from you. implement. move forward.

as a soldier to not be caught up in civilian affairs
but to seek to please you. my commanding officer.

knowing my dreams are too small and my pride
always begs for fame i pursue things half heartedly
fearful of the praise inflating my head like the
last helium balloon of the batch. you know the one
where they just keep filling it to see how long it can
go before it pops?

that one.

but lo! an old fashioned ha! you woke me from dreams
of sheer terror. and i stepped into the day
steeped in, overwhelmed with, wrought with,
thanksgiving

i’d like to stand in awe
but i feel standing irreverent
given the weight of your presence

i cant feel my toes when
i numb them from the run from my
fears which i hope i can escape in
this here present reality. the naturally
deposited ground would feel gritty
if my feet were any more capable
of feeling but instead the sandpaper
texture turns silk and the catharsis
from the pain i attempt to induce
becomes something much more like
a back rub or lullaby slowly rocking me
to sleep.

five AM rise before the sun
my reflection in the water treatment pool
my feet on this trash-soiled ground
toes gripping every crevice
music and running as fast as my
legs will carry me
bring me before the throne.
before the sun.

morning comes with no milk for my child
no water for my tea
and i leave the house without my routine
broken somehow in my own strength
buying breakfast on the street as i was
denied my granola
i hop aboard my bike and head in to work
munching slowly on my egg crepe stuffed
with spicy potatoes enjoying it almost exactly
the way i like it.

then legs emerge from the potatoes and before
i would allow myself to distinguish a head
i bite
and sans-chew i spit you out.
the rest of my meal untarnished is to be
now consumed because
dang it.
there was no water for my tea.

i’m reminded of the misery
i once enjoyed as daily life
when i returned to my most
recent home and thanked
my creator for uprooting me
to greener pastures.

cars lined up in a row
patiently awaiting an idiot
fourteen cars ahead who pulled
to a stop at a green light
unaware of his mistake
because no one will FRIGGIN HONK!

the sun shines brighter out there
after passing through the fog
setting on the shore of this lake
huge by most standards but still
dwarfed by the great lakes

i find joy knowing i cannot see the
other side and the sun is out in force
both to the left and right of me.

the grass grows greener out here
but thats hardly fair given the grass
exists out here. the toilets come in
fancy grouping to separate our number
ones from our two’s because this
is farm land and human waste can
hardly be seen as waste when theres
crops to grow. to serve on people’s
tables.

the water runs clearer out there
rushing down night soil fertilized
hills of farm after farm we cant help
but want to drink what we know can
kill. so they build pots of porous clay
to run the water through and absorb
the bacteria right out of that heavy-
metal-free water.

the people grow darker out here
free from the concerns of the world
but burdened by the land to which
their great grandfathers were bound.

the cell signal.
well… it’s actually stronger out there.

sometimes thats whats needed
like a vacation for a walrus
that just wont stop blubbering

sometimes you just have to cut it out

“stop him!”
who?
“he keeps waking her up”
i’m sorry i don’t understand what you’re saying
“stop him before he wakes her up
he keeps almost waking her up”

*shudder*
and sleep.
our nights pass by these days
as though two in love anew
discovering vacation like
something.

you’re crazy in your dreams

i dreamt of long and slow
and lived it short and fast
knowing my biking will
never be faster than my
running and my walking will
unlikely impress you

thunder as an alarm
the pitter patter of rain
slowly ascending

green leafy vegetables and milk un-aged
or bowls of oily spiciness though with
most cheeses i’m in the clear. provolone
or mozzarella is seldom rotted enough
for me to get by but most swisses work
no magic at all. broccoli is not an issue
but a single slice of cabbage brings disaster
to an otherwise painless two hour trip in
my car. oh and while most peppers cause
no ruckus, the juice from cooked beans
bring me to my knees – from which i rock
back slowly onto the circle in my bedroom
which i call my bedpan.

the smell of beer,
milk soaked donuts;
the couch’s squishing sound.