trucks

rumble
and coffee's bitter

but sugar helps and keeps
fueling

all those jacked up hopes
and dreams

There are many ways of looking
at a glass

but in this case
it comes down to two

a refusal to accept

or a deprivation of all that  you have
coming to you

Eventually, the sky weeps
chubby gloppy drops

(clown tears)

And things change.

The leaves, for instance
go from green

to red, yellow, orange, and blue...
Maybe

like gumballs in a glass globe?

(25 cents, a twist, and a clink,
they're free.

But only for seconds before they're shredded
by teeth and masticated?)

That is(leaves, we're back to leaves), before they turn brown and die.
I guess it's what you'd call the long goodbye,

to summer, romance, and whatnot...


And oh yes!

Did you know I flunked out
of clown college?

They said I was funny,
just not

honk honk funny...

I set at the edge of the bed
with a blue floral spread

waiting

for the sun to blush
the sky

as the minute hand on the wall clock
quivers

the ice bucket
sweats

and breakfast  

will be soon
but is it really breakfast

if you haven't slept

Rumbles
like a tank

with the odor
of a rancid tennis shoe

its horn blares

"Move your trash, please!"

but what if I am trash
do I get picked up

or just ignored

Sweet
and gooey puffs

that stick to your teeth and cling
to your fingers

I'm there

where happiness coexists
with guilty pleasures

I'm there
but I haven't always been

Actually
white at the knees

the place where
you used to cut them off

and let them
live a second life

as shorts