yuppie ****
think you're an intellectual
cause you say a few fanciful words
recite a few blurbs
of things you misheard
smarter men speak
you wreak
pathetic and weak
and you can barely stand
to look me in the eye
i see right through you
this is no position
you're suited to

Sometimes, tides behind teeth get stuck
as if the moon, distracted,
looses its inexorable pull

then all the weight of water
sits stagnant
while each pescatarian thought
from the zipping, inconsequential minnow
to the ponderous whale bulk
sulks, sick and stuck

If you see these green gills,
or the overspill in the eyes of those
you know
maybe sit awhile, harbour side
and cast a line or two

They say that beggars
Cannot be choosers
For they end life as losers
Choosing to snooze
As they drown in *****
For even the highest of standards
Hit the ceiling
Better to remain low
Than to stray
Unless what they desire
Can never go away

The best poems avoid eye contact.

Just before you find their rhythm,
catch their direction,
they dance away,
and you watch their beauty,
leaving

you full of wanting
wishing
you knew the steps
hoping
you might keep up
wondering
where they led
leaving
you to tap your feet,
missing
every third or fourth beat,
kidding
yourself that you too
could be sliding, shuffling
and maybe grasping the sway,

but they dance away,
and you stay,
while your eyes follow.

I miss the beautiful sadness.
The tears tasted like cream,
Fears turned me pale.
A quiet sadness.

I was so pretty,
Smaller every second,
Floating away in tenderness.
A whisper,
Then silence.
What more could I ask for?

And now I’m more.
Taking up more space,
Filling more holes.
I’m too much.

Now this..
ugly sadness.
One where I grow
instead of shrink.
My face is pinker,
My stomach splits at the seems,
tears taste like *****.

If I go,
It will not be a whimper,
But a scream.
Rawly honest,
and rancid.

Still,
I think I’d rather be
a beautiful lie.