Okay?

Why do we divide time?
I don't mean into hours,
But partitioned into categories,
Handing it such power.

If one is asked to work during free time,
Well, it's right to complain,
Or relieve oneself sexu'lly at work,
Not good examples, but still, just sayin',

Let's say you want to sleep while all's awake,
You're called, like, a 'night owl',
Or, it's a half hour after your train's left,
The conductor cries foul,

What I'm saying,
If not already clear,
Is the times chosen to do things by all,
Are a big pain in my posterior.

Your Last Seven

Once upon a chairlift,
The question had been asked,
What can one get done in seven minutes,
If someone was so tasked?

One could run, I think, one point three-six clicks,
If my memory's right,
Too, but for an added bit, play 'Hey Jude',
A duration both eternal and tight,

A set span that's fleeting, but what if changed,
To last seven on earth?
It would seem like an impossible ask,
Pregnant with Heimdall's girth,

What would you do?
Reach out or reach within?
My mom let go of truly ev'rything,
So not to miss death's true envelopment.

Ode to a Grapefruit

I just ate a grapefruit,
Them's bitter little guys!
Actually, quite bigger than an orange,
And healthier than fries,

And than oranges, if you go by myths.
Yes, I could google it,
But eating one makes me feel so healthy,
I'd rather not know and bamboozle it,

For health is all in the mind, isn't it?
Laughter's the medicine,
If I think grapefruit will cure all my ills,
Don't kill the illusion,

For you'd kill me,
You don't want that, do you?
Wait, don't answer in case your mind's stronger.
Why's my skin turning this deathly pale hue?

Tension

There's a pain in my back,
Kind of close to the neck,
Like tiny bones have simply been misplaced,
An ossiclar car wreck,

Somehow the muscles will sort it all out,
It's their fault anyway,
They tensed up as if they could change my world,
When their relaxation would make me gay,

Who do they think they are acting like that?
Don't need them to tell me,
When life's circumstances are causing stress,
They're adding to it, geeze.

Or me to them,
I'm sure they're just the same,
Thinking, "will he just get it together,
"Do us a favor and relax his brain?"

Road to Success

Pliers in my pocket,
Lunch bag is in my hand,
Steal toes aren't warm, but they are required,
Or there is reprimand,

There's still much to learn, about what I do,
Both by me and the world,
Twenty years hence, things will be discovered,
About the toxicity I've unfurled,

But we can only go by best methods,
Based on demand and dough,
If both of those are high, we can afford,
To care 'bout what we sow,

So we look good,
And not get boycotted,
Oh, to grow so large that that's a concern,
All I want I'd have already bought it.

The Inconceivable Experience of the Great War

Deep down in the trenches,
Lives, every one of them,
On hold, but unable to shut their minds,
To their homeward visions.

The stench of death infused in the wet mud,
Wet with blood, not water,
Bonds stronger than any at work or school,
Forged quickly and speedily made fodder,

Bodies returned to the earth unfinished,
A whole generation,
Either gone or forever affected,
Beyond their prediction,

So beyond yours,
This life is too ingrained,
Until asked to defend it with our lives,
So our children don't think we lived in vain.

Bobble

I am a bobble head,
Skull, ill-proportionate,
Stuck in the same position all the time,
We're all in the same lot,

Only moving when we're nudged to do so,
Then only look around,
Give a nod back to the inspecting eyes,
Placated by the little movement they found.

They have to give our hefty heads a shake,
Or we're just left to think,
'Bout how most of the time we're up on shelves,
Contemplating the brink,

We all don't fall,
But those that do tip o'er,
Their heads will pop off little cheap spring,
Revealing what we all are at the core.

A New Discovery

So LIGO found the waves,
Those thought of by Einstein,
Proving, what we all know, there's more to see,
Than our own petty crimes,

We are observers of phenomena,
We're creating some, too,
Still searching for the nature of our world,
As if there's something categoric'lly true,

We split a laser and sent it to space,
When the two streams came back,
'Cause one was late, time/space must have been bent,
So now we've a new fact,

Like the Earth's round,
Do you know what this means?
One day we may trek through ripples in space,
Still no closer to what we've really seen.

Your Alone Self

It's no fun being watched,
If it's of your true self,
Moments alone, heart sitting on your sleeve,
Imperfections of health,

The delicate teetering of one's mind,
Stares back in the mirror,
Peace only is in this safe privacy,
'Fore walls need return in public horror,

A clamp on the fulcrum, stealing your heart,
To face judging faces,
Ones not meant to be peering through windows,
At intimate spaces,

When you're yourself,
Is that one pockmark new?
A blip in the scheme of the universe,
Pray no one knows it's anything to you.

Little Bird

The authentication,
Of the things before me,
Placed in this life, living no subterfuge,
As to what they should be,

Not because they managed to find their bliss,
Carved out amidst chaos,
The sparrow does not smile, draping sour thoughts,
Nor does it feign strength in face of great loss,

It does as every sparrow has done,
In the same circumstance,
A luxury of camaraderie,
Of communal conscience,

Or so we guess,
No one can really know,
If behind its seeming benevolence,
That little bird's a victim of sorrow.

Another Novel Idea

Another end's in sight,
The outcome ready-known,
Though, the first version is never the best,
It's really just the bones,

But what body can exist without form?
Just as form's not enough,
You need the jungle of smells and colour,
That makes up the truly int'resting stuff,

That hints of the structure beneath the flesh,
A doctor feeling 'round,
Sniffing pores 'mongst hairs that have seen it all,
Yet nothing concrete found,

Just emotions,
Invis'ble skin on skin,
Grown from interaction between bodies,
That's where the novel idea begins.

Server Guilt

What? Am I still working?
What do you mean by that,
As I sit with my food that you served me,
Just a few minutes back?

Is it because it's you that is working,
As I sit and relax,
That you don't ask if I'm still enjoying,
Instead of whether I'm breaking my back?

Then when I'm done you ask if I need change,
'Stead that you'll bring it back,
To give me the joy of saying keep it,
'Stead of being guilt-racked,

Wow, that was work,
I've now indigestion,
If you'd only thought of someone but you,
And simply asked me a diff'rent question.

Falling

September is the month,
What say we run away?
On the crisp wind to a Fall-time retreat,
Our eyes closed, come what may,

Under cover, of course, of the bare trees,
Your brown dress will blend in,
Hide you from those who want you back at home,
Me safe in Mediterranean skin.

Let them scrunch their eyes in disapprovement,
Shaking fingers at us,
Afraid that the world will choose to follow,
The brash adventurous.

Not the first time,
Revolution's followed,
In the wake of the few who dared escape,
Walking lightly under a heavy load.

Running Things

So much is e'er written,

So much is always read,

Makes you wonder how there is any time,

For any action left,

Though I suppose there are lots of people,

Who do not read at all,

Who have plenty of time to orchestrate,

The greatest way for the world to evolve. 

Which is great, bring it on, less work for me,

I'm sure it will be fine,

What do they say? 'Armchair philosophers',

Prescribing all the time,

Not having done,

Just thinking how't should be,

As long as the doers follow their guide,

Shit, I forgot that they don't even read. 

Letting Go

All things you must let go,
Like mom said, 'fore she died,
A memory's already diff'rent than,
That which you did deride,

If you hold on to your disappointments,
Like the moment's still real,
There'll be less and less time for the present,
And so those things that will help how you feel,

There's no exception to this nat'ral law,
Lies, violence or shame,
We are all born new every moment,
Potential to our name,

So, to our lives,
Like there's a second chance,
Informed by moments actually good,
Just like the steps to your favorite dance.

Lay It All Out

There's something to be said,
For laying it all out, emotions, memories, pain and despair,
Your weakness and doubt,

Uncertainty at e'en the words you use,
Though sure that they are right,
To instill the feelings inside of you,
As you ponder your existence at night,

The things that you've done and were done to you,
'Spite all you wish to be,
Ev'ryone would be forced to lay it out,
If it were up to me,

Then we'd be free,
Not doing stupid things,
Just to hide that fact that we're all human,
All with the same vulnerabilities

Word on the Wind

The wind will always howl,
Except for when it soughs,
Or whispers as you lie in your hammock,
Looking up at tree boughs,

It whistles when it catches something right,
Like it wants you to know,
It once was air not doing anything,
But always around to witness your woe,

Carrying your words across empty space,
As you try to connect,
Vibrating ear drums, then filling their lungs,
While you're filled with expect.

What will you hear,
When the air travels back?
Will your mind howl, whistle, whisper or sough,
Or simply  wish you'd ne'er taken that tack?

Oh Sun

The sun is bright and hard,
Glass sterilizing it,
Belying the chilling cold just outside,
Piercing homeless garments,

Its overbearingness causing headaches,
Like micro-managers,
Or parents unsatisfied with their lives,
Pushing their offspring to become doctors,

But only resulting in slain passions,
Unrealized potential,
We do not need so much light upon us,
The heat's detrimental,

It's distracting,
You have to turn your head,
Missing the half of the world that might lead,
To the place you were meant have excelled.

Breakfast Blues

The oatmeal in my gut,
Mixed with nuts and sugar,
Rained down upon with swallows of coffee,
Repairing my liver,

Fiber easing the passing of feces,
Though there's the stomach pain,
Hunger abated for such a short time,
Then my stomach will need more food again,


Masticated and mixed with saliva,
Peristaltic journey,
Plunged into acid and dissipated,
Somehow nourishing me,

Then out the back,
What the fuck's this about?
Like you change from birth to your final breath,
So we're worlds for other lives' ins and outs.

The Real Work

Just a thousand a day,
You look at it that way,
Eighty days, you will be able to say,
You have a first draft, nay,

You will have a first pass at an attempt,
One might e'en say a dent,
Kernel of an idea, p'haps nugget,
With a smidgen of what you really meant,

Then you will go back and tear it apart,
Few things left in your cart,
But precious, mined from the depths of your heart,
Representing your art,

Your own real truth,
Both genius and uncouth,
That is when the real work begins, forsooth,
When you show the path to grown-up from youth.