The sun
drills its agenda
through the western window
reinforcing dominance
on a Sunday afternoon–
sight impaired until
a blanket cumulus
soothes corneas, looms
before our daily heater
pierces and banishes it.
Misery once again.
Category: Poetry
(1) Don’t Want to Write–I’d Rather Be: Staring
Staring off into
an endless void
of forgetfulness and
fulfillment of purpose
through the simple act
of living
on this stage of consciousness.
Everybody else
around me may strive
for material goals,
and I lust
after similar things, but
my ultimate actions
do not
indicate that fact.
A busybody is one
who always
needs something
for their hands
to accomplish, even
if their constant enthusiasm
for productivity
impedes social or professional activity.
That Sound Is the Rain
The rain
is not profane,
although
it won’t abstain
from running down
the drain,
a sound
that won’t refrain.
It drives the soul
insane.
I’d Rather Stand
Hamster wheels sinking in dump muck
don’t generally sound like a wise investment,
but this raccoon doesn’t think so.
His hands, those hands that make you think:
“Well isn’t he just a cute little guy!”
pry at the wheel to dislodge it
from under a dishwasher, and his back
looks tighter and tighter after every attempt.
I would go over there and help him,
but I’d rather stand on the asphalt
with this voice recorder and make fun of him.
The thing probably has rabies anyway.
What would a raccoon want with a hamster wheel?
He’s obviously too big for it
to fulfill its intended purpose.
There must be some kind of intrinsic value
to a cylindrical mass with steel bars
for one circumferential wall… sometimes
I think animals could have heightened motivations
for developing monetary systems and markets
to share their ingenuity, and–oh wait,
he just likes it because it’s shiny.
Advanced Algebra
If, tomorrow,
I started
a collection
of dried grass
clippings,
how many
would I have
by the time
I die?
#68 DRAFT
The key
to
successfully
lighting
a cigarette
in the wind
is the same
as winning
a bike race.
With
your back
to the wind,
lower
your head
and kick it up.
#67 DRAFT
While the last birds
of Autumn fly in sparse flocks,
a semi-load of hundreds
of pallets heads south,
followed by a gravel truck,
a Chevy sedan, a Dodge minivan,
a Jeep and two red Toyota pickups.
WHARVED 