broccoli
my path is blocked by the lonely moose of failure /
stones crunching underfoot go snap, crackle and pop /
my life’s metaphors: breakfast cereals and large quadrupeds /
marking the time but not looking back
a stray dog lifts his leg on the doorway /
yellow as the sun and bright as day /
typical really of how things have been lately /
still, it should be obvious /
you didn’t hit me hard enough
do trees scream as they are cut?
alas, more or less
but there are bigger issues at play
as I stare, angst-ridden at your three-day-old Cinnabon
I wish I was a little taller
apparently shameless, he cried,
“I thought that rash had cleared up for good!”
as another blind date
ended abruptly
simple, honest, direct came the question,
“Have you lost your faith?”
the retort: “I never had any to begin with.”
a little while later it began to rain
threadbare shoes, damp socks
faith or no faith
“that’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard”,
love is chemistry, sex is physics;
he straightens her hair, just so,
suddenly the sum total
of the feckless wanderings
of an itinerant philosopher,
indigent, thoughtful, restless,
the spark of life shines less, and less;
still, he was always pretty good at physics
a ghost story poorly told,
still manages to summon a powerful evil,
campers remain unimpressed,
until the fangs finally hit home
stripped bare, the open window beckons,
the sky rains glassy pain,
false starts garishly displayed,
drunk by lunchtime, I remember nothing
you are testing my patience, blue Camry,
with your erratic lane changes,
and your slow starts from each traffic signal,
you are conducting a symphony of vehicular anarchy,
highlighting my deep insignificance
trembling there, and a little sad,
things fall apart and undone,
one sad soul destined for doom,
still, at the edge of consciousness,
intoxication is much better shared with a girl
time is slipping away again,
so save my soul, you creature of the night,
I don’t remember how to mask the pain,
to find something that is not me
to be ready once again,
you cannot see and feel my pain,
even before the gods and our ancestors,
at least the living outnumber the dead tonight
I wouldn’t try that cheese,
a tourtuous instrument of pain,
running from the devil,
stuffed animals never think of suicide
the setting sun burns my eyes,
a pleasant path to happiness, that’s for sure,
with the ghost of my imagination,
and all the stars up there laughing at me
if I make a promise,
my soul on fire and in everlasting pain,
in a world awash with businessmen ,
aching with regret,
last time it didn’t work out,
choking, choking, the flies won’t leave me alone
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