South Korea
has modern things
on top of ancient dreams -
too quickly layered.

Strange disconnect
in generations;
rice paddy
revelations -

New traditions
steeped
in desperation.

I can't
decide
a freaking thing.
My ears ring.
And orders bring
fresh squeaky hell,
a ting-ting bell,
laughing
at my silly
dreams.

Crazy chick that I work with,
How are you today? Calm the **** down.
You’re a mess - not that anything’s wrong with that.
But you’re in my workspace, which is not your workspace.
Also, your mouth babble, eye gestures and body jerkins seem
To indicate that you wish to communicate; alas, could you
Coherently convey an idea, who would want to receive it?
Please vacate the workspace and return to yourspace.
Have a nice day.

I am evolving
into the me
I will be.

But am I
making,
or being
made?

We are going off to war,
we are sitting by no more;
we are smashing skulls baby,
killing the enemy.

This is how the world is made;
this is how the rent is paid.
Grab your gun and follow me,
baby, lets make casualties.

Those with souls can stay behind,
and moan and groan and hide their eyes -
that is why we charge ahead,
baby, front towards enemy.

Most people don't see the fences
and barriers and borders -
I've crossed them.
Earth is a thousand prison camps.

There's a place for me
in a field of Bluebonnets
under a Pecan Tree, with
Texas Longhorn lowing
to passerbys,
and mockingbirds flitting
about cloudless, grand skies.