anticipatoryicipation

poetry

summer down time for me
aint so much about vacation
er the cuttoff shorts which embrace
me thighs
rather
beer in hand and busy lunch
two weeks of slow before the
rush
begins again and life wont stop
until we’ve moved and started up
again once more in another town

where rain or shine
life is good
(and even in the rain there’s a little shine)

Perhaps Concerning That Burning feeling one gets in one’s muslcles, or the sick damp of a sweat-soked shirt on stuck to a tired back

poetry

It’s a damp heat,
a damning sort of
weight upon the body
and, somehow, upon the
Soul

Our air conditioners
rattle off the sweet song of
recalcitrance, ourselves
refusing to venture forth,
save for to the car with
a sweet, sweet song to match.

But to fight too hard is
Useless,
and perhaps it’s best to
lock yourself in a little room
with a drum kit and some
ISOLATION headphones:
the point of the exercise to
-really- let your sweat bleed out

Weight on the Soul,
just like weight on the shoulders,
may hurt at first,
but only makes everything stronger

I’d punch you in the nose if i could and gladly accept all the consequences to follow knowing that in some distorted way i’ve reclaimed that lost time

poetry

Fifty-five minutes
In stop-and-go traffic
Mostly stopped
Waiting for the terrible accident
Fallen tree in the road
Collapsed highway
Or some other great catastrophe
To be cleared
And at last sixty-five mph
Can be resumed
Only to discover
There wasn’t an earthquake
And the world isn’t ending

Instead a million rubberneckers
For the life of me
I’ll never understand
Have slammed their brakes
Staring in awe and wonder
At a solitary police cruiser
Lights flashing
On the side of the road

Do I get a refund on all
Of my time you just wasted?

That Hat

poetry

There’s a hat on the
lamp in the
corner

The lamp is on so
it’s not so dark inside,
but it only really lights
it’s own little corner,
while an old picture in
a new picture frame is
the only thing you
can really see, anyway.

And the hat, sitting
oh-so-nonchalant atop
it’s warm yet gritty
perch, tattered rim and all,
seems to watch the whole room
and compare it to the years
that it’s already seen through
the eyes of a barely-associated
third party.

An old picture in
a new picture frame is
all you can really see, anyway.

Thank You, Though

poetry

The interplay was brilliant,
but surely – and as usual –
someone’s been given
Far Too Much
Credit

Lesson would be learned, were
this not another go-around.
But some of this logic’s not
sound enough to carry any

Weight

…at all.

Strange how
‘In Too Deep’ becomes
‘One Way Out’ almost
‘In-Stant-Ly’

Strange how
so many heartfelt
lines of prose can
boil down to one word:

Peace.

In Public Places

poetry

The three ASSholes sitting just
one booth behind
have NOT-A-CLUE how near
their maker’s really standing by
to meet them

Not a permanent arrangement, mind,
but just enough of an
ASSociation
to keep the bastards on their
Toes,

Or at least their best behavior.

One (or three) ought
not, after all,
be so confident in
other folks’ ASSuagement

Three of them
One of me
Even odds,
as far as I can see

Crrrrtny

poetry

“I swear I’m ver-y
flattered that you asked me
to inspire you to
‘poetic heights’
or some similar
stupid state-of-mind”

Is what was said
in not so many words.
and perhaps, the
general meaning was
expounded upon,
just enough to
fancy up the
writer. Or,
that is to say,
he didn’t flatter
anyone, at least
no one today.

But the truth
as he’d imagine
is the inspire-r in question
was in fact
taken aback
and only had one
thought in mind:

“Suck
My
Wheaties”

though the true meaning
of that meaning, one
simply can’t begin to fathom

right now i feel like a rockstar,

poetry

reveling in my unanimous appeal
seemingly accepted by all
for no reason whatsoever,
other than just being myself,
hoping that i won’t be discovered
as the fraud that i might be,
as the fat-kid in school
that everyone likes
but no one really cares about,
except to make fun of,
every now and then,
in a joking, aren’t we still
friends sort of way.

Congruent Asphyxia

poetry

This isn’t what you wanted
But you drank yourself to sleep
Overdosing on apprehension
And I’d like to say I’m choking
But there’s liquid gently coursing
Through my suffocating lungs
I followed you into the depths
And mark my words
This place
keeps get
ting sm
all
er
.

Getting Back at

poetry

You may feel that you
certainly deserve the chance
to prod and berate
(and you do)
just for all the little
things and all the terrible
little things

Though, as you poke
and prod away I
feel that I should
certainly remind
(Or perhaps, simply
educate) you:

No matter how hard you
force your point across
Great White Sharks
do not believe in Karma

A dolt

poetry

They say
Wisdom comes with age
But I find that hard to believe
And have yet to see its fruits.
The older I get
The more there is to know
And the less I care to know it.
At four I had life in the bag.
Said bag was a red handkerchief
Fastened around a stick
And slung over my shoulder
Like Tom Sawyer.
Its contents a PBJ
And a pocket knife.
The more enlightened I become
I realize the more stupid I am.
If there’s one thing
I’ve discovered with age
It’s that I’d much rather be a child
Clambering to the top of a hill
In gleeful ignorance
Than digging a hole
In melancholy cognition
Proclaiming that I’m an adult.

panic

poetry

i feel it down below
and soon i’ll have to let go,
letting it me and everything consume
by reminding me of what all looms;

but before i can let it have full sway,
i still need to work this day away,
without giving in to the mind-knumbing panic
that i know will cause me to become manic.

Day Old Jeans

poetry

Lie crumpled on the floor
Navy blue on the seams
Frayed along the stitches
And faded at the knees
Light etched on fabric
Through the window beams
Wrinkles in the folds
Still drying from the stream
Stretched out in the waist
And stained with ice cream
If you listen closely you
Can hear the playful screams
Full of summer memories
And yesterdays dreams

you should fear what i have

poetry

lines in the sidewalk give the blind
direct through their shoes providing
bumps which lead forward to more
bumps giving a rhythm to the voices
in my head

remind me of better times
where words were my best expression
before i found you

i warn you thus
never pursue the One i found unless you’re willing to (forever forsake) your muse
for once found
your joy will take your sorrowful words away

into the ether your pen writes
happy line after happy line
and the only thing you’ve left to lament
is the loss of your lamentation