The seat, 15C,
it calls itself,
screams at me,
let me out!
can't breathe,
with you in it.

pretty sure
sir seat,
it ain't me
that got wider,
but that you
are slimmer.

your momma cut you
3/4 inch, on a metallic line,
on either side, each wrist,
read it in the Journal,
their motto, no fooling!

yup,
even at 10,000 feet,
the ****
cutting word
gotta put in a
guest appearance.

in the exit row
we swore an oath,
administered with
great solemnity to a
no-nonsense stewardess.

bowed we did,
to the AAlmighty,
in the event ,
we needed to operate
the emergency exit,
we would a good job.

**** right,
all cheerfully replied.
nat, women and children first,
which was perhaps
why my fingers
were crossed
under my iPad.

sweetly, they offered me
juice, soda or water,
hard crust of bread,
cost 6.99 if you could
squeeze your hand
in between
your **** and the seat,
your wallet to retrieve.
(credit cards only)

plenty turbulence on board,
the east coast weathering,
you may well have heard,
inclement weather
up and down its entirety.
at least,
I read that in Miami,
the rain is warmer.
(no charge for the
RRR, real rock n' roll)

because I am feeling
the holiday spirit,
signed up for the
up-in-the-air Internet,
the price paid,
I won't reveal,
lest you call me Midas.

somewhere over Tennessee,
I thought I would drop you
this note, pretending it was a
for-real, certified, sorta of a
poem, disguised as a
Genuine Thanksgiving Prayer.

in a way you will never understand,
that lovely thunderbolt lit up yellow,
just a click, a finger tip flick,
kind words in accompaniment,
make feel better about myself.

much do I have,
for it is given unto me,
to be thankful for.

you cannot be thankful for
having,
only for giving and receiving.

this is my first thanksgiving here,
and though jocular do I prose,
with earnest almighty I promise myself,
I will share my corn, feed you pieces
of me that I don't speak of to others.

my feast of words, more glorious,
because of your attentions,
the warmth of of your fires of
appreciation are recorded,
each in its own unique neuron,
cherished, cared for,
and as promised,

I will shake your hands,
then your body
and your soul,
as long as
I have breath,
an Internet connection,
eyes to weep
at mine own foibles,
fingers to record,
and something
worth sharing,

I am sending you a thunderbolt,
and a notification official,
that you have given me much
thanksgiving in the year
two thousand and thirteen.

thank you.

There's not a finer way to go
Than in the early morning
As the new sun rises
And burns the light fog away that sits along the shadow of the mountains.
Dew glistens on the tall grass while bright birds chirp and sing to the new day
The cool air is filled with moisture, with dirt, thick air with life in it.
There's not a more peaceful time to die than that.
It's a good spot under the large oak tree,
Nice shade and a decent view of the range
With a strong branch, for a rough roped noose.

A gruff voiced sheriff and a soft spoken judge
Passed the final sentence and kicked the chair away
While a somber silent minister stood swaying with the breeze
It was a fine morning to die on,
A fine morning to hang

first you gotta eat.

first you gotta work.

get in the F150 truck,
the dust maker.
don't crank the music
too loud
cause you know
that, as an
escape venue
don't work,
same as nowhere at all.

you hit what is
a dry patch.
mostly stone,
pebbles and
way too much
concrete,
ribbons of white and yellow
making you crazy, and
you force yourself to

settle down,
get it organized.
only a matter of time
then when it's calm,
the itch,
can't  be creamed
or suppressed,
want to write,
you are afraid,
why and what
might,
will come out.

you proud, not loud,
you are the dust maker,
you will make your dust,
when it is time when
life is just a little less
dusty, or dusty enough,
don't matter, either way,
to get it straight,
the crooked will out.

4 door Electric skillet

flying low into a spiral
magical words created viral
splashing down inside the crowd
play that music so dam loud
swinging high in my backyard
singing words of Kierkegaard
dizziness of lives gone past
anxiety growing oh so fast
loving everyone on your shelf
but don't forget to love yourself
my mind expands I try to fill it
inside my 4 door electric skillet

Gomer Lepoet...