If, whenever out, maybe driving about,
On encountering road-rage, never worry,
Claim that you are, Ronnie Pickering,
They should drive off, as if in a hurry.

Although, if they ask, Ronnie Pickering?
Looking bewildered, unsure who you are,
Do a convincing, Pickering impression,
An apoplectic beetroot escaping its jar.

Start ranting and raving, making threats,
No need to reveal, considered, justification,
Rage like a gargantuan, ignorant, imbecile,
Before storming off, in bitter frustration.

Remember, while out, always take care,
If encountering, squabbling or bickering,
If the people resemble blustering bullies,
One, could possibly be, Ronnie Pickering.

Entire world heats up  .  .  .
No shows on saving humans,
  .  .  .  Reality TV.

Sayest timshel from leaf and vine
You keep yours and I’ll keep mine

I vow not to be a shoulder to cry on
A balm to that Sartrean dis-ease

At which even he would shake his head.
Can you choose when things are weighted

By our stones a lapis and gold?
Of truncations of freedom to you

Even seem old? You, you step back
From the depths, from your behest

For know you are learned, deserved, and
White, your struggles aren’t so lead

Lament, can I, at no progress
Being the same in thought, though

Practice, marked indifference. We are
Not free, nor are we doomed

Rail against thyself and bear
And bite your teeth at the cord.

Empty seats from me across; I sigh not, nor count it loss
But the drop of liquor and memory bits
Pieced together, but still a myth.

I question to the coffee light just why and what
Holds violence behind a wall of height?
Exactly how can he show his face around here?

Contrition is stretching unapologetically
For does it, too, know my fantasy
Or that I am vague to its reality?

Act or no, this marked giant infantile,
Acts on this, on me, my quintessence
As it's years from adolescence

A sigh, a sigh—my trick to think it good enough—
Peppered to my private ones an audience of extremes
Mirror use,

But if I speak would they care to know?
Hot coffee burns at it goes down
Have I faced a punishment fit yet, now?

Tight-lipped utterances and across town
They should feel the coals alight, powerful.
My better sense—my heart now, too—

Tell me this is not , nor ever true
Forgive me please if I have a few
Forgive me no, never, oh!

Feel fate on me when I come
Red-eyed and gritted teeth, meaning well
Father, forgive, though God’s not here

For more than mine, shed hath tear
Leave me to my silence, pay penance will I here
And in maddened eyes I avert

Just know in time (to that uncertain) that I
That I will rectify—invoke Holy Mary to this,
My heathen heart.

Search in the forest; you’ll find me there
Letting the trees
Speak my apologies
For those I could not, would not dare.

Along, along the broken trail
A single line
No one’s but mine
Familiar silence, mem’ries glint

Though that I have cast judgment
To never speak to you again
I would still lay you in the ferns
And hold, in mine, your lovely hand

But the trees speak my apologies
Behind the timbers of my teeth.
There you stand in the cast light of ease
Eden lapping at your ankles
Winged by thrilled and lucky leaves

Blind in light, your darkest mien
‘bove where I’ve fallen, disgraced, mean
In the ‘brace of ferns between
You see me as I am
Cloud-watching and quiet,
Needing to say more
But shame, shame is defiant.

Search in the forest; I won’t be there
For you are in the ferns, the breath of tress
A concluded jawline bitten down
Wayfarer of the broken road and scene
Turning an ear from the trees
Rest I and tight lips
Trodden away as they speak my apologies.