Month: March 2013

So here’s the gist, here’s the deal.
We have a lot of people making their spiel

about a guy who really didn’t do much in his life
aside from the living part, the kids and wife,

for what reason? He didn’t want to be ridden with guilt
and approach conversations on six-foot stilts.

He wanted peace, he wanted quiet, the kind of space to think,
in a world of vast opinion where individual liberties shrink

into untold recesses of ill-defined emotional junk.
So he grabs for his childhood, that meaningless chunk

setting him up for an average haze;
and now this last line rhymes with days.

A tall man wearing a grande espresso ring stole my attention from a tarpaulin-wearing socket wrench-eating groundskeeper.

Where the distinction crosses my overworked plane still lies in the forbidden zone, though I surmise someone kept their turtle bracelet a day too long.

As long as everything flips hydrophobia under invoice paneling, your undernourished calcium ducts should respond with vim and vigor.