Several Poems

.

Scenes #1

.

Tracking in endless greyscale

Surveillance footage

Through the eye of god

The world is a shopping mall

.

A man for two

Maybe three seasons

And markedly so

He (or she)

Who would have the courage

To claim the breeze

Alternately

The gutter water

For it flows

Penetrates

Into dark and

Secret realms

Fetid crevices of

Ceaseless activity

And motion

.

When I think about prison

I daydream about all the time

That I would have to myself

All the man

That I would have to become

To avoid being raped

Or stabbed to death

Why I shouldn’t

Use my current freedom

To achieve the same ends

Never occurs to me

.

A skateboarder

Patiently tries

Over and over

To land a new trick

He is cool

Even as he fails

Even his falls

Are graceful

They flaunt

The elasticity

The invincibility

Of youth

.

From this treehouse

You can almost see the ocean

You can almost hear those ships

Blowing their foghorns

Wide-eyed angels

Forget their tetherball game

And peer down

Cheeks round as cherub-rump

Jealous and pink

Climbing down is as painful

As a third divorce

The children are cursed

They don’t know

How much greener

The grass will become

As they grow into the world

.


.

PUTDOWN

.

It’s easy to be self-deprecating

When you have

A calling

A body of work

A presence

That others admire

And quietly aspire to

.

It’s much harder to stomach

The self-mockery

When you are

A complete lowlife

Unaccomplished

Immature

Piece of shit

.


.

Winter #1

.

Here we sit in studied hush

Dreaming of lives of come so plush

At our studies at our poems

Feel the chill within our bones

Cold of seasons in our touch

Souls mashed down to cold grey slush

How our spirits long to roam

To chase the sun and discover home

.


.

Brilliantine Conundrum

.

Conversations become

Zero sum games

I don’t win often

But I always want to

.

Lying in wait for

Some weakling I can trounce

For that grinning moment

Where I’m made of solid stuff

.


.

Eventual Christmas Bird

.

I cooked a velociraptor for Christmas

The meat was stringy and sour

The sloughing scaly skin reminded me

Of a childhood nightmare

In which my hair falls out in clumps

.


.

Engineer

.

I’m an engineer

Who dreamt he was a man

And loved it

But now the dream is over

And I’m back in my cubicle

.

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