To the person
concerned
with my overall health
and ungainly recidivism
every Tuesday,
I offer a branch
from a pepper tree
in exchange
for your counsel
and a dozen bran muffins.
Category: Poetry
NaPoWriMo 2014 – IX
Before we begin necklace preparation, we must drain porridge strawnecks with a touch of humility. We do not possess the capacity for creating these raw materials by ourselves, so we must forage for them and reap the benefits of a world well-harvested.
Thought Capital
We thought outside the box when it was still a triangle. We are the progenitors of unconventional thought. Every day, our ad house pumps out unique campaigns and slogans that guarantee our stability as we move forward through the 21st Century. Our mission has always been to scare up free associations and create valuable commodities through words alone. We are America’s last true cottage industry–our creative staff works at home in their boxers and does nothing but generate new combinations of letters in eye-catching tidbits. It only takes one ingenious concoction to make our agency more valuable, and we understand that the road to such lucrative products is paved with half-baked, sometimes ludicrous content. For every JeanKnees and Penergy we create, there are thousands of RhinBows and StareWells left behind. There is no known formula for marketing success–we rely on the public to weed out the bad ones. Our office downtown is set up for nothing but focus groups, 24/7. The building is rigged with more two-way glass than every police precinct in the state combined. Twenty-six floors (we use letters, not numbers), fifty suites in each one. We have more ideas from A to Z per capita than the entire country of Armenia.
NaPoWriMo 2014 – VIII
Everybody look at the man on the bike with his matching green helmet and shit-eating grin. He’s working his way toward a future with others who share his passion for two-wheeled transport, but until that day comes, he’ll have to go it alone, scaring pedestrians and breaking all the laws he possibly can. He needs to cultivate a legacy of rebellion and a blatant disregard for anything safe, or he won’t manage to sell the whole reckless lifestyle to average folks who’ve been looking for placement in the echelon of amoral roustabouts and hoodlums destined for road rash.
NaPoWriMo 2014 – VII
The elite slurp from their goblets, usually something boozy. There’s rarely anything potent enough to get the job done, except through extended periods of hearty imbibing without the dreaded safety net of sustenance. On top of the pile, they must imagine (in their own way) the plight of the lower class as they slur their words. They let loose a torrent of racist generalizations that, in their minds, are truly adequate for depicting the struggle endured by their moral superiors each and every day.
NaPoWriMo 2014 – VI
Pelican speeches are slurred by inconvenient liter-sized industry, peppered with indistinguishable pebbles along the insipid shoreline while we dump our oil (whether we like it or not) in the incontinent ocean.
NaPoWriMo 2014 – V
Temper, sir, temper!
You must listen to reason
for reason to listen to you, sir.
Too many times I’ve seen you
standing while sleeping, sir.
I’m not too sure you’ve got
your head screwed on straight, sir.
But don’t you mind anything
I might say today, sir, for
your daughter is about to be married
and you still need to put on your tux.
Sir.
WHARVED 