Produce while you can

Rhythmic timing of the automated machines force those of us who notice our surroundings to try not to walk along to the

2, 4 beat. It’s. Em

barassi ng

At the grocery store I was buying a head of lettuce and rem embered the time I yelled at you for taking so long to pick out the lem. Emons. Barries. Maybe it was the same song playing in the background, the one no one ever seemed to LISTEN TO THE WORDS to, it triggered this subliminal memory. Or Me.

Too bad you will never read my poems. (A novel?) You would have, you knew your time was limited so you paid attention, (took time to enjoy) even when I was embar

assed that others would notice your goofy laugh. I know you knew. Sorry

I always take my time in the produce department. No matter what th they.


Might think

Barrasing. Don’t hide what makes you special

Drained under Main

I looked up from my drink
The room filled with comic cons
So much noise I cannot think
Broke up peace as drama dawns

Steering the ship into cosplay
Blindly and sick
To them I am like Cosby
No binding of Isaac
No flowey in my hobbies
Just roofies in my pockets
Getting stoned in hotel lobbies
chasing faeries. creepy. frothy.

To avoid claims of
I broke away for a smoke
and there right before me
Main Street bridge.                                   A River flows.

And behind me the door closed

From under steel and concrete
So many yellow eyes
Whistling strings. Chomping meat
A spider web to which I’m tied

The Asian girls won’t let me back
I’ve grown old and cold
Deserving of this attack
Dragged into the mold
Stuffed back into cracks

But I digress
I’ll even miss the smells
of wet ashtrays
Horses hiccups and regrets

There’s a bridge in Columbus
Where thousands of spiders took the night
No one will miss me as I’ve
become the suckers way of life
tangled webs of sacrifice
(pregnant pause)

Everything has appetites

To look in the mirror you can’t see
Who they’ve imagined you to be

Frankfurt A to Z

20180304_163403.jpgThat pneumatic pulse
The hi/lo wail on a yellow van
The stoic expressions and forced smile
Of a staunch upright German man
Who blinkblinks too much
Over his bright yellow scarf
And sprayed on Orange tan

The fullness of the smells
Of pretzels mustard and meat tubes
Sneaks behind the headaches, fuels wafting sweat of gate changing fools

Clack clack of suitcase wheels
Mad dashers and those who chill
Each pestering the other with looks
We all came to leave the flights
Are all booked

The elderly trying to remove their shoes
The young tugging crying for toy planes
The salesmen imbibing their blues
Drinking in another method to be away

Travelling. how I medicate
A half a pill of enthusiasm
Up to and until too late
It’s just another groundhogs day

The adrenaline of go away frowns
Wakes me up to bring me down
To land in your forgotten towns
Weary old pieces of me
that touch the ground

I stand on the walkway
Pondering runway lights
I couldn’t stay more than
Well. maybe a few nights
In any one place where
your loved ones die
Just let me through to
look down upon static lives
Please pass to the left

Because for me. Its not right.

Driving that train

With authority

with clarity

With pursed lips and fingers chalked

The cue ball.            didn’t stop.

I admire you winning the prize

With chiseled body

Perfect hair. She had no chance at all

A couple lines, a flash a pop

The dropping panties.               didn’t stop

I am jealous of your smiling eyes

With calm tone on fleek

A public award on stages propped

Acceptance speeches

Man so on top

The ladder rungs.                  didn’t stop

I am In awe of your talented surprise

With the spinning wheels

High speed sex appeal

Eyes on yourself not the road that dropped

The Mack truck.

didn’t stop.

I am in shock now of your demise