Inject, repeat
Landscape alteration
Black itch
Category: nerd
Submitting to Human Trivialities (day 1314)
I am not a program.
I sleep,
And continually eat.
At the Grocer (day 1267)
It’s easy to fall in love at the grocer,
All of those melons and apricots,
And loose leaf teas.
I’ve actually smelled love
As I walked by the slow roasted coffee beans
They had especially imported from Argentina.
I’ve met a lover as I perused the cereal isle
Searching for a wheat free granola,
Lamenting at the fact they only had Cheerios and Fruit Loops.
I’ve yet to make love at the grocer though,
Carnal instincts among blueberries and yams.
I’ve almost been there,
Sitting amongst my pillows and a lover,
Nibbling on strawberries and freshly cut cheese on rice crackers.
Thorn (day 1261)
I once laid my eyes upon
An autumn so yellow and red,
That spoke to me of Monarchy;
The golden days of ol’.
Here I tarried a while
Pondering on the past,
Only to find, as I divined,
I had been transformed into a lord
Who had about, in glorious splendor,
A thousand man devoted train.
But to my alarm,
And quite disarming,
I hadn’t a desire to call mine own.
So my yawn was feigned,
My brow was fanned,
And of my rose was left a thorn.
Lost Connections (day 1246)
I start finding lost connections
About gurgling waves
Lapping around poles and
Sheet metal, breaking
The X – Y plane
With flashes of memories
That thunder through my hull.
I recognize a lost connection
As rusting red leaves mixed with
Rubber ducky yellows
Spin their way along the Y-axis,
Dancing nimbly with warm arms
Of X and Z stitches.
Lost connections break my conscience
With each dead 3 pronged plugin,
With each false hope of recharge.
But each diagonal floats on by,
Twisting like an unbroken chain of genes
Through my alert moments
Realizing it’s not the destination,
It’s the journey in the end.
Leonard Cohen (day 1244)
Leonard Cohen wasn’t a poet
He sung long lines of Paris
In melodic sarcasm
That was rather
Fitting for the time;
Parisian hipsters and
Too much coffee.
Leonard Cohen had a voice
That carried well over
Acoustic sounding
Folk music to the droll
Of caffeinated serious chatter;
Long lines and small chat,
And pointy boots that
Make you look.
Leonard Cohen was a mime,
Abused and used and paid well.
He lent his name to fashion,
He ran well with fine wine.
He used a painted brush
And was often confused with Dylan.
Falling Over (day 1240)
There is a challenge
To writing lines between
Exit plans and diverging funds.
There’s two dollars,
The last straw…
Destination’s in sight,
And I’m falling over lonely
Like I’m a leftover
Empty balloon.
Collecting (day 1239)
Elliptical and magical
And all the right reasons
For insults and slaying
And positive disorder.
Magnets and surprises and
Delightful little nooks
To call where I stand
My own, and leave whispers
Anonymously sprinkled about
Like two cans of spray paint,
Like a schoolmaster’s lisp,
Like the memory of a highschool
Should-have-been
Late night in bed,
Struggling to calm the mind
Of all things ticking,
Only to wake – in what
Seems like minutes –
To resume collecting again.
’57 Appaloosa (day 1227)
Can you control my yelling as I short my conscience to your wedding?
-Laughing with the children blowing bubbles down by the pond-
I didn’t expect to see your friend Lucifer standing there
As I convinced you to drag the fresh linens through tumbleweeds of mystery
-It is the style, I explained bitterly through my clenched teeth-
Amazed to know you fret over the cake with your eyes opened so wide
Calming the sunshine with sips of refreshments from white dixie cups
-I chewed all around the top rim of mine, unable to resist the feeling-
Your sawdust left a trail for the onlookers to follow as you trailed off into obscurity
“Madness” they muttered under their breath directing their eyes to your mother
Her hands were boiling with innocence; a fools bargain at the end of the road
-My loaded shotgun wasn’t a toy gimmick to be taken lightly, though I held it so-
Even the village authorities didn’t know what to make of it all
Trained as they were in 39 different methods to disengage a situation
A calming hustle settled over the observers
-I came prepared with my gradient tinted aviators and beer cozy-
The ’57 should-be-retired Cadillac rolled on over the loose gravel
Unnerving the guests as her tumbleweed dress sat down amongst the tears and stains
Rat piss and shit and splintered deluxe leather upholstery
Sporting a vintage look you can only get from years of missing affection
-I couldn’t help but remark on the timing of it all-
Doorless I was on my sturdy ’94 Bronco, I still had a radio good for the local DJ
But oh was I jealous of the missing hubcap on that old Cadillac
Rattling free as they sped through the streets, top always down.. it was a ’57 after all
We all knew they were notorious for having glitchy automatic tops
Plus, the rust on that thing was shining so bright in that heathen sun
-I turned to the wild thing next to me, nearly popping out of her mid-twenties figure dress-
“Say Cindy-Lou, I’ve gotta cooler full-a-beer, two lawn chairs an’a good-ol-radio
Wanna grab my shotgun an’head on up to the ol’ mine and shoot the breeze?”
-I could see it in her eyes it wasn’t the beer she was after-
Her nose rings and solid gold spacers told me she liked firing shotguns
Wild women always had a soft spot in my heart
Their unnerving contradictions always dropped my caution to the wind
But I rolled out of there with my spirits singing about Friday nights
2 good speakers in the ol’ Bronco: front right and rear left
-I wasn’t spitting sin, I was just riding on the gin waves of the 1230 nuptialities-
So we left those 76 long jaw’d and sweating visitors at those old rodeo grounds
The automatic shifter kicked a bit as it shifted into third
But the dust wasn’t settled from the ’57 Appaloosa
Rattling down the never happier road to short lived elation
We turned right when they turned left
We headed higher as they got down; after all it was honeymoon season
In the land of Friday nights and worn out shotguns
The Village Park View (day 1222)
Buildings look bigger when I’m not moving.
When I can sit and stare and observe
How ominous they behave
Sitting there, beyond.
I understand how they get there;
Months of toiling and clanging and
Larger than life machinery hoisting up
More than just imaginations.
I understand they fulfill some eager desires
And transplant thousands of civilians
Into one common – or at least proxy’d – goal.
But I still sit and wonder as they tower in the vista,
Waving at me motionless with wires and reflections.
I try to count the windows and cubbies and features
That line the facade, but my eyes have become
Weak with vastness.
It’s amazing to see the intricacies,
How erecting smaller things
Like a shelf or a picture frame
Can flummox the wisest of scholars.
Complexity of alignment,
How marvelous these structures.
When I wave my goodbyes they smile back.
They all let me know how nice it’s been to
Share these moments together.