There is something wrong
I don't know why but when
I find a mirror it becomes clear
as I become distorted
My face slowly falls apart
blood oozes out as my nose falls off
My cheek is gone and exposes
Damaged teeth held together by roofing
nails and plaster of Paris
The blood is heavier now
and my deterioration excellerates
Where did these wires and transisters
in my head come from?
I am pretty sure they were not there
before I went to bed.
I hang my mechanical zombie head
to the side...and bleed.
I wait patiently to be awake again.

It’s good the world is not made to your dream
and people aren’t how you wished them to be
your needs are never satisfied to the brim
your wants keep growing endlessly.

It’s good you don’t get all you love to own
to your eyes all mysteries are not clearly shown
your questions are stuck and queries remain
your joy’s exuberance is diluted by pain.

It’s good uncertainties hinder your way
your lips can’t utter all you want to say
your plans go awry path fills with mess
hurdles keep coming to block your progress.

It’s good you ever feel far the distance
always hope there is a second chance
events don’t take the course you will
you retain a void that you yearn to fulfill.

Puffy eyes, stayed up late
That's what they say
Broken window, glass in the seat
Who would want an empty bag
anyway?
Manners lost, nothing but hate
and strife.
I hate when people can't even act
in real life.

The other day in a bar
a young man threw down,
called me out, and Said,

"How do you
become a poet,
oldtimer?"

I sat my bourbon down,
looked him dead in the eye,
thought I might fling
an impossible koan
to take him out,
but instead I answered.

"Listen close and I'll tell you true.
It's all in the Muse, kid.
Not a muse; The Muse.
The only Muse for you.
And you'd better start looking now
because it can take your whole life."

I finished my drink.

"Next time," I said," ask me why
the bridge flows, but the water
is motionless."

He sat stunned,
philosophically
out-gunned.

I sat my empty glass down
and slowly walked away.

Another notch on the handle
of my Karma pistol.

No matter how good you are,
they just keep coming.

  ~mce