A:
I am lucky
to have friends
who at least
tolerate
my *******

B: That's nice. I just hold my peace.

which cards will you draw today?

lethargy is a fickle friend sometimes

so i wish for moonlight within the clouds

of marble floors, rolling paddies that

commerce plows swiftly, masked

soldiers marching zigzag between

        the glare of pink slips

and streams of granulated sugar

They said you have to
    be a man.
Tell me,
    did you ever feel small
    driving your motorcar
        to that bank?
                ~
We came from the clouds
    but not for you.
Still,
    we hope you saw
    your children
        fly

They are scared of you, young woman
Do you see how they shiver when you speak
How they become furious when you walk in your crown with your head held high
Do you see the hatred in their eyes when you become as educated as they are
Young women you are the future and they are frightened by that
When you put on those gloves and start fighting
When you put on a smile as you walk towards your achievements
When you put on your heels and stand tall with you head held high
They are scared of you young women

i'd like to say oh hello like mulaney
grab a pen and craft stories like ashirogi
sing from the heart like chicks from dixie
and be the top percentage like young joey

but when i look at them
i just want to be
all that i am

and drop the hat
the wisecrack
grab a chair,
listen.

Memories of an old friend's drum;
rejoice as your paths intertwine
and leave an emerald mark,
like a ferry towards safer shores
to guide you between kin's ways,
planting the roots of clarity
where you'll grow with the rhythm
of a ready wan light.

He takes his last breath
for the night. The music
from exhaust engines
tire themselves out. Inside,
petty advisors punch their
timesheets, setting aside
solicitations for flowcharts
and returning to their ever
shrinking dormitories.

Good. Now we can begin,
the sugarplums declare.
(or are they centrefolds?)

It begins and ends like
every other cycle, not
that consistency matters
at all. Swivel, sway and
trot, or so is often thought.
Troops of the troupe
clean up nicely without
noise, nor is assembly
required. Soon enough,
the stage is ready.

A very handsome entity
(perhaps) pirouettes. No
matter if the platform
dissolves, for the performer
had rehearsed it between
routines. Now how about
the audience? Has the lone
ticket been sold? And the
theatre, well-unlit?

Yes. The prelude—or truth
be told—distraction bows
itself out. Stagehands,
raise them curtains up!

Eyes have no interest
in foreplay. What is in
play—skydiving?
Wakeboarding? Nudes
to the beholder?
—can only be
temporary. No actor
overstays their place.
Always, an unannounced
but not unexplainable
cameo, a kindred
spirit seeking presence
in the now, only serves
a sense of urgency,
of misplaced longing.

And then,
you wake up.