Only the worst poets
spoon feed their readers.
The rest sing it out
and let the chips
splatter as they will.
No one writes
to be misunderstood.
Spout your words
like a fountain.
Perhaps a few drops
will fall into
thirsty mouths
and satisfy.
Then again,
                  maybe not.

Have you tasted
A campfire?

Have you seen
Polaroids fade?

Have you felt
The sand sparks?

     We howled at the moon.
          Our youth in full bloom.

               Our collective pasts
               Biting at ankles;
               In strength we held fast
               Denying shackles!

           Demons will come soon.
     We’ll conquer at noon.

Have you heard
Our trumpet?

Have you smelt
Victory?

But, more import
Would you like to?

It is six AM.
Do you know
where your poet is
right now?

  ~mce

If I had $12 I'd
buy a bottle of whiskey
to ease the pain of poverty.
I don't.That is
exactly the definition
of poverty.

  ~mce

Most men notice
the perfect ***
of a 20-year-old
and feel lust.
All I feel
is the sharp nudge
of too late.
Age is a process
server it's best
to avoid.

  ~mce

Chaos mixed with uncertainty
stirred by a random spoon,
like one of those digital billboards
that you drive by too fast to read.

  ~mce

Her dress lay in a heap
on the cat furred floor.
A smile of satisfaction
spread across her face.
Having done this
time out of mind,
I knew it was my turn
to say something tender,
but my tumescent lips
just can't winkle out
pretty lies anymore.

  ~mce

I could never
be married
to myself.
We just aren't
that compatible.

  ~mce