the hands
the ticks
the metal parts
working in complete
unison
to all do
the one important thing.

Every once in a while, 
(More often if you’re not careful)
It doesn’t turn out like you planned. 

The pour misses, 
The spout miscalcuates,
The cup teeters (and falls).
Worst of all there’s a crack or tear. 

The waters sploshes along the tabletop.
The iced-tea splatters on the counter.
The Kool-Aid (of myriad colors) stains the tablecloth.
The orange juice slunks over the sink. 
The Pepsi simmers on the linoleum.

But sometimes you just have to slurp it up,
Cause what’s the use of crying over spilled milk
When it’s still perfectly good anyway?

Invisibility,
a trick worth learning
for all purposes
excluding tax evasion.

You could abscond
with candy at a liquor store
or rule the roost at
Capture the Flag.

Back-door men and
Sneakerpimps would
benefit, too, but
the only two certainties in life
are Death and taxes,
and mark my long-winded,
erroneous words:

invisible or not,
the I.R.S. Will find you.

muscles clenched
eyes squeezed shut
waiting for the
punchline
waiting for the
point
and the
punchline

excuses for ideology
are excuses nonetheless
and rather idyllic to boot

Best wait for the
punchline
and the
point
and the
punchline

Sometimes,
it’s a long wait.

the sun doesn’t set on
our love baby
but it’s dusk now,
so come on

get in the car
i’ll drive you home
and when the stars
come out

pretend not
to notice.

writing using words
folks far superior to me i know it’s hard to imagine
to request in clear but big words
details with the same hands that write poetry
about programs for which it’s highly unlikely i’m qualified
for further education you’d think i’d quit at some point
and hoping against hope
for acceptance when this same writer is rejected from just about everything
or at least and the least really isn’t too little to ask
for patience a seldom recognized saintly gift
in understanding clear communication is for writers of prose

ceaseless pounding of flesh
against the ground as i beat my body into submission
bloody nipples the only casualty

The palpable scent—
Sweet, sickly,
heavy,
Clings to weigh down hydrogen,
citrus molecules,
Barometric pressure.

Discarded rinds—
Sliding, peeled
with grasps, gasps, gentle tug,
separating soft slices,
taste exotic fare.

Rinds redolent of potpourried sweat
tropical fruit—
Delicious, dripping bare.

the gravedigger did the dirty work
his shovel rotating as the hands
of time zoomed all around us like
the horse flies on my grandfather’s farm
and there you were,
oh, there you were
your lifeless body looking foriegn in
the moonlight
twisted and distorted
a fairy-tale gone wrong

and what was left of me left
after he slumped you over
started covering you up
dim light
peeking over
the horizon
i drove home and listened
to your favorite songs
and you were alive with me.

I was born in a laboratory.
My cognizance stamped out on a microchip.
I am a single-core processor and 128 gigabytes of RAM
stuffed inside a semi-squamous sack of
sputum, pustule, and bone.

She was left at a Battered Women’s Shelter
for dead or otherwise. The other battered Women
didn’t care much for themselves.
Nor for her. Nor the children.
Ignorance ever the mark of a battered life.

But I tend to push my emulator
and fake the sort of care one needs
to take care of one’s needs.

The fools and the machines never
ever stand together. Though I suppose
the fools rarely ever stand.

in dim lights
with repeating chords softly reverberating
the pastor led a prayer
instructed us to breathe in, deeply,
you whispered into my ear
“think of a smile”
(an inside joke)
but i did
then smiled
only partly because of the joke
but mostly because
you had just whispered into my ear
while I was breathing in
during a prayer
with repeating chords reverberating softly
in lights, dimmed.

he tells me to get some land
some waterfront on lake superior
to get me and some of my fuckin
buddies around and get some fuckin
land
it’s the
largest fresh water source
on the fuckin planet
i’ll never need water
fuck detroit
he says
i don’t have time to
wait around for that shit
i need to get me some fuckin land
and i know he’s right
cuz when the shit hits the fan
at least i know i’ll have a plot
with my name on it
where no one else can stand
and watch the shit fly
or i could always wait till
people want to build shit
there and pay me twice what
i payed for it and fund my
retirement
like the guy
if i make it that long

it is i who lacks self control
it is i who needs self control
but how do i control myself
when control is exactly what i lack?
here’s to hoping for help
from the outside.

the vine produces grape
with or without a maker of wine.
the question is
are said grapes grub free?

yes i think highly of myself
i’m told it means i was raised in a healthy family
parents who loved me
probably more than yours loved you.
oh i dont mean that to sound harsh
but i’m good looking
smarter than most
probably smarter than you if i put my mind to it
but the truth is
i’m not insecure enough to need to prove myself.

you see i’m pretty grand with people
folks tend to laugh at my jokes
and while i can be overwhelming at times
it’s probably just your own insecurities
which are improperly responding to my self asurances.

i run faster and farther than just about everyone
around
i could probably win the boston marathon tomorrow
if i chose to enter
but i dont need to prove to myself my ability running
unless you need me to prove it to you.
even then its unlikely i’ll enter
looking this good in a running leotard
would only intimidate the really good competition
taking away a lot of the fun

you’ll see with less work that i’m brighter
i’ll show in a shorter time that i’m wiser
that i know more
that i live better
that there is no confidence i lack.

you’ll see in no time i’m the best damn thing there ever
was.

and though you’ll probably feel envy
dont be embarrassed
that’s normal around me.

—–

these thoughts would be less embarrassing if any
were pulled from the air instead of my mind.
yes, i know a thing or two about pride. but i dont know
where to begin -i’m utterly lost in my search of
true humility

He’s doing it though. He’s really doing it.

Occupational hazards aside. Dagger out. Shot
gun loaded and locked and danger
ous. But he says what he says to be true:

If never a dull moment, then never a bad idea.

and with every body piled neatly
corners clogged and reeking
(and the smell will never come out)
there he goes. He’s really doing it.

Blood for blood, I reckon.
and God Save him, that bountied king.

i’d sing in the bathtub
or a ridiculously large
comfortable
shower with a nice
‘rain’ setting
and enjoy cigars while
soaking in pools
up to my neck
as i read, and sleep,
read, sleep, and occasionally
break for meals
of an absurdly tasty assortment
probably with a beer each time.

there’d be sports. thats for certain.
i’d probably take on a few new ones
as football is only weekly and for nearly
half of the year they rest.
i’d need baseball and basketball to fill
the nights.

perhaps i could watch it on a waterproof screen
while i sing.
in my bathtub or absurdly large
shower
with a nice
‘rain’ setting