Sticking a smock
in a smoke-filled sauna
sounds so silly to me
when I think of it,
and I’d rather
shell out some simoleons
to Miss Sandy
for a liberty steak
any day of the week.
Tag: Stream of Consciousness
A Nice Hand
Throw the counsel
to the primates,
the primitive speculative
kind of people
that would lean to a window
and spew all their feelings
like bleating little lambs.
Have a porta john
installed in your backyard
as a prank against the logic
of a man askew from wisdom.
Put the plank of a parrot
in your hair to see if you care
enough to try on a golf glove
while you commemorate
the skies of the burgundy chipmunk.
Give them all a nice hand.
A Novice Unsure
Bent over the hovering stairway’s landing,
I crawl through my own ignorance
just to convince myself
that stairs are meant for climbing.
I go one step at a time,
a novice unsure of proper footing
and without a handrail.
I dare not look behind me
at the infinite darkness
beckoning me, “Just fall,
I’ll catch you eventually–
or so you think.”
Just Fancy Thinking
Being in the glen
of otherworldly struggle
boggles the mind
to new heights
never explored by our kind.
Maybe other peoples have raced
to these fresh conclusions
before us, but
that’s just fancy thinking
at this point.
You Get the Picture
“Marry me,” is all she ever said
to the rock next to a hard place.
She didn’t actually
want to exchange vows
with a boulder, she just felt
like expressing herself to someone
who wouldn’t get carried away
with reception planning
and chicken dancing,
like the traditions of her mother
and mother’s mother (you get the picture).
She sat upon the boulder,
palms down to the cold stone,
completing a kind of silent prayer
that would, in her mind,
infuse this lifeless mass with personality.
Such Claptrap
Stem the flow of tawdry shipmates
until someone is drowning
in a case of PBR, unaware
that they could have just had water instead.
Hobbling through a brook of crystal clarity
can only unveil so much character
within a single person,
especially if they’re alone
and it’s dark outside.
There could be a little cliché moon glow
on the water’s surface to create a texture
for the story line, but
it’s definitely not necessary for our purposes here.
The visual would be somewhat stunning,
and it would be easier to see
the shadows of deer in the forest,
but again, we don’t need to rely on such claptrap.
Short of a Dozen
Sell the time
short of a dozen eggs or so,
maybe even
short of a dozen egos
if you really want
to delve into it.
I don’t have any suppositions
to be made about our cosmic lifeblood,
conscious or otherwise,
but I wouldn’t hold it against you
if you decided to speak up
about your version of things.
All in all,
twisting the fraudulent skeleton key
into some manmade lock
can only achieve one of two results.
We hope there’s something
to be revealed behind that door,
if we can even call it a door.
Sometimes we have to heave our hefts
to and fro, as though
there were no gravity
to impede our progress
through the cattle drive
we call average workaday life,
and is there anything the matter with that?
WHARVED 