My life is like a Rubik’s cube. Too many twists and turns that are out of order and with every twist and turn comes havoc in anything already accomplished.

Little Ms. Bleach-Jean-Jacket
With the pixie cut high boot style,
Rolls her eyes sarcastically behind
Glasses, and a flirtatious desire
And wonders if the professor
Likes what he sees
At the smallest two person table.
Reading willing and able
To **** his student raw
Although she knows this,
That’s the plan;
Academic battle strategy,
She thinks it a talent
Double-talking with her hands to ****** him.
Wrist bones whispering
“No one else here has to know”
She shyly smiles and laughs in her mind,
“Sad fool thinks some day ill go home with him”.
“Sad fool just game me that extension”
The sad fool checks an email defeated,
Ms. Bleach-Jean-Jacket has won.

Checkered choices rise some nights,
play chess with all my frightful failings.
Queen's Pawn to Rook 5.
          Nail my footsteps
          to the concrete season.
          I'm losing pieces it seems.

I'm a sardonic grinner
     and under these eyebrows, it's nuclear winter.
Wending my way through the last
three years, I find no release valve.
The pressure will build and place
its long arm along my shoulder,
pull me far from my friends.
One.
                                         Two.
One.
                                         Two.
                   Step
                 by step
      by hammer blow step
a story is crafted, installed with a lock
          in a circular book.

Queen's Pawn to Ryman Street
                  1:45 a.m.
simmering skin over ice armored innards,
the freezing rain sends up my curses
                                               like steam
                                  clouding off of my shoulders
and into the skyline.

I've castled my way out of checkmate questions.
Not my move to make,
                     so I won't life a finger.
Queen's Pawn to front doorstep,
          then straight on to bed.

When thou lost order within thee,
Allow truth for the remedy,
Thou seek not being obsolete,
Ambition is one-third the piece,

When fair is foul and foul is fair,
Answer with a righteous prayer,
And once the sword of truth runs there,
There’s no desire for foul to dare,

Thy second bit is quite a sweat,
For love is nothing without debt,
And once this virtue lays a threat,
Preserve the balance with one step,

The final triumph is through the hail,
Indifference is the frozen stale,
And once its staggered breath gets pale,
Thy will gets handy when they’re frail…

The greeting is the same
the minutia is the difference
Point A and Point B
are always constant

Like a craftsman with
his toolkit and techniques
nothing is out of sync
with expectations

It's not a game any longer
it has become a chore
motions to go through.
Ten minutes in....

You....you threw in a wrench
into my machinations of
dialogue and movement.

You....you don't bore me.
It's a game once again,
and we both intend to win.

Let's play

The thought of this girl
The girl who stimulated the mind
I challenged, she won

The mental game of chess
We exchanged pawns at first
Then the field started to open
I sent out my queen to capture her king
One by one taking down her peace.
Flipping her every move against her

But she had a secret plan, a terrible dark secret plan
That I should of known.

I made my move for the takedown
Queen and (k)night ready to fight.
My move I put the queen in position
I set up for the end, it's her move.
She has duplicate rooks
My king is in the corner
Next thing I know ... Checkmate

It is I, the cat.
I sit and patiently wait
to swipe at the dog.