Category: Poetry

When life boils down to nothing more than pursuing livelihood for the sake of movement, an astute observer must do everything in his power not to spiral headlong into a nasty bout of depression.

The solution? I haven’t found one yet.

Time is made for those who can’t stand to live in a body without knowing what to do next.

So as a gator takes your wheels from you, don’t be meek. Stand up to the reptile and reclaim what is yours. You have no need to fear a jaw and teeth, they can do nothing but crush your bones and extinguish the life force from your body.

Her woeful wiles fell short, well well.
Considering the impish nature
taken by a broad swath
of otherwise integral humans,
I would go as far as to say
that our consciousness guides us
to the clock of chance that spins
under porridge bowls
while Goldilocks tests her meal.

Translation: Her attempt at seduction with a pitiful approach blew up in her face. Well well. Considering that a lot of good people do a lot of crappy stuff, I would say that we need to take our own risks.

Tugboat Annie never left the dock that day.
It wasn’t the weather,
wasn’t the guns,
wasn’t the tightness of the women’s jeans.
No. It was that punching notion of a place
unrestricted by law and by God,
open and bare, a glassy existence.

Translation: The tugboat did not leave the dock for the usual reasons (weather, violence, sex). No. It was actually just overwhelming to be in the ocean.

For what you would say is your livelihood, you seem to be pretty dead. Maybe take up a hobby or two? I’m just a backseat critic, I can’t be bothered with no nonsense, mister. Do I make myself clear? I certainly would hope so, for your sake.