She spreads
And he butters
If he can't keep it up
As long as she is down
It's all gonna end
In burnt toast,
Her better side
On the floor
He'll get the door
I'll get the dough
But what does she knead
If I am the **** on a crescent roll,
Maybe
It's all baloney
I've got to go H.A.M
Cold turkey
Like she cuts carbs,
Temperature is rising
I'm crisp
Out the Oven
And into the fire,
I just cannot
Believe it
Is not margarine
Thin layers of fakery
Who's running this bakery?
Everything has come
A long way in the baking,
Is it melting or burning?
Don't know
Until you slice,
Take a bite
It'll be alright...

APAD16 - 002 © okpoet

early morning
every one works

to make the land
more beautiful

sprinklers sing
water jumping

up in the air
birds grooming

their songs
elderly women

with rolls walking
their poodles

old pick up trucks
filled with new

flowers to plant
slowly driving by

His eyes gleamed and played in his eye sockets, like marbles on a playground. When he spoke, he waved the arms of a worn windbreaker. Dried ***** pooled down the center zipper. This was a man who stopped to compliment my boots and not my face. Or skin. Or purty smile. The wind encircled us and almost pulled the cardboard with a toothy model on both sides out of his dried finger tips. His niece insisted he carry that thing around. If only she had given him an entire billboard instead.

When I saw the gaunt streetwalker, companion of the sunrise, keeper of the bottle--he had enough to live off the recycling from years--he reminded me of the naked frightening people we are when we peel off the fifteen layers of skin, disrobe, and dismantle our pride.

Some people are holograms,
They appear to be there but in reality they're long gone..
Some people are mirrors,
They see things that you don't see about yourself and they love those things.
Some people are artists,
And other people are the art
Few people are both
Because not everyone has a pure heart
These are just my views and opinions
I have these little Cathy theories I believe in,
Like how.. The Universe is always leaving us signs
Some people accept the good and the bad,
Most people make up their own signs sometimes even toxic people come with the signs.

Some people are lovers,
Two types; heartbroken & in love
Some people give up,
You did, I won't...
Some people are platonic.
Some people...
But not us.

"What must we endure?"
Cried the naive child.

"When must we endure?"
Lamented the cynical adult.

"How must we endure?"
Worried the desperate parent.

"Why must we endure?"
Questioned the lazy innovator.

"Whom must we endure?"
Rallied by those who dodge the questions.

Each year when time
changes forward,
I intentionally forget
to switch the old,
reliable clock,
finding comfort each morning
when reading its deceptive hands
to appreciate that
there is always
an extra hour left
to live,
to sleep,
to experience.

In the year 2015,
instantaneous expectations
condition behaviors exponentially
that veteran social media robots
efficiently reduce their average
characters in texts and posts
as often as the characters
who exist in their memoirs.

I fear that my insight
will be interpreted as "deep"
and in a sense it may be true
since I can feel the loose dirt
being shoveled over my head
by critics and hypocrites
who passively preach
while staring down:
that to be a normal person,
one must close their mind
and rather than retaining
creative ideas,
they should bury them.