Wednesday, November 30, 2005


One day you walk down the street
and a giant sheet
of particle board
ugly and hard
slams you in the face!
End of race.
What a disgrace
you are
a failure.
You've got a worthless tenure
so just drop dead why don't you?

So now you're dazed
and nearly
at your dumb self.
As if
you might have been raised this way,
with that glazed look in your eyes.

Now spies.
They're everywhere. Here and there.
Out to get you. They'll break in. Shhh... quiet. They'll hear.
Is it them again?
Is the key rattle him or her?
Have a beer.
Drop a tear.
You'll feel better.
Put on your favorite sweater and get some fresh air.

Summertime lulls.
Peaks and... dull moments.
Capture in time
snapshot in a mind
that was once clouded.
It's clear, despite the smoke,
that all is
worth saving.
You're amazing. You're the king.
You want to dance and shout and sing
so you do.
Boo! You're back from the smack.
The whack.
Made you whacko.

Baskin' in the glow.

Fall is all about now
so it looks golden and crisp
minus the sugar bear
and without a care
you walk down that same street
unphased now; the power of your own two feet.
Breathin' in the fresh air
powerful but threadbare
and smiling.

Looking to sup
You're but a pup
in a world of old dogs.
Lap it up.
Maybe whacko
but always yourself.

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