I don't want to sit
in a party where the dialectic
just don't make sense
I don't want to listen to a meeting with
wall to wall rhetoric
and I fear the swarming
of gossip
at the encounter of such occasion
I am sure to be the first figure to leave
I wouldn't heed or bother
with the blank stares
never really cared
about the frowns the scowls
the looks of revenge
by nature I am afraid
of being caught in the smog of life
wrapped in its layers
I know that the more I get caught up in it
the more chaotic and confusing is the turbulence
the darker it gets.

aboard the aircraft metaphorical
bearing those employed
by companies large and small

a moment arrives when the cryptic
overhead lights instruct
that the time to leave has come

passengers are led to the open door
at the rear of the fuselage
where they will leap into the mist

the happy few will be strapped
into a designer backpack
filled with a carefully packaged parachute
of luminous gold

others are handed
a sturdy bundle which holds a
lifesaving paraglider of shining silver

a group somewhat more numerous
gratefully accept their sustaining dome
of spun silk and exit with confidence

the greatest number will be in a line
leading past a toilet paper dispenser
each individual to be ejected will be allotted
a single sheet

the one ply tissue will be printed as follows
“Grasp tissue firmly on opposite sides
hold tissue above head parallel with ground”

a hearty cry of “Good luck!” follows them
as they are assisted through the door
by a well placed boot

Because you are a dear, dear friend,
as dear as you can be;
A person sweet, a joyous treat
to work here next to me.

Of greatest wealth your superb health,
until a cold you catch;
The bills, the phone, you can't stay home,
and so a plan you hatch.

To work I'll go, I must not show,
that really I feel lousy;
No pills I'll take for goodness sake,
that could cause me to be drowsy.

Your nose will run, you'll say "Oh ***,
a tissue may I borrow?
Please do not lock your tissue box,
I'll pay you back tomorrow!"

So,
Because you are a dear, dear friend,
and I would not want to miss you;
This HOLIDAY SEASON my special gift,
YOUR VERY OWN BOX OF TISSUE!

I’ve seen it myself sometimes.
Shooting pool with a Marine I liked, a buddy.
He’s drunk. Always had a ***** problem
and women had disappointed him,
no more than any other man.
Anyway, the only gal in the unit, honest, hard working,
blonde comes into the room. We all
wanted her
I’d shown her my poems, which she’d taken a pass on.

Joe starts teasing her about her tiny ****,
touching them with his cue.
She’s scared. So am I.
Joe’s stronger, faster than me, by a lot, and when he’s drunk
he knows no friend.
How long can I stay silent, I calculate.
What does he have to do before I speak. Speech, none.
If I don’t put him down with the first crack of my cue, I’m done.

Lucky for me she gets away
unharmed, goes back to her room.
I think Joe assumed me and the other guys, by our nervous smiles,
would enjoy a **** tonight.
Men are such chickens,
I can’t speak for women.
You basically hold your breath
your whole life.
Live in a zoo
**** and *****.
And if it comes to that, you’ll ****
on orders, from who?
Another swinging ****
who fears his death.
You’ve got to make every day a good day to die.

i must hustle    cause i’m made of spoil
moist rice skin
            thinly incases  soft fluttering organs
mucus coated   elastic  chicken bones
                                          run throughout my parcel
they prop me      doe-ing before the lumy screen
     (the screen that volunteers us all)

emaciating into my work
      through this communal portal    i'll detonate my legend
    my spirit shall decant and dispel gladly
in the world remaining
    my cadaver will become acclimated
                        and re-meat the soil in an easy spill

         no longer alienated     my work will be    utter

I love him
For five days out of a fortnight
Sometimes less
We spend more time talking
About how much we miss each other
Than we do making up for the lost time
Our five days every fortnight
Are split between his family and friends
And my work
So we end up with weekends
I love him for two days out of a fortnight
And I miss him for 261 days a year
We spend time more time fighting
About how to spend our time
Than we do spending it together
Our bank accounts are more connected
Than sometimes it feels like we are
I get to love him two days out of a fortnight
The same amount of time spent on that plane
Sitting next to strangers
Working for those two days just the same
I love him for one third of the year
The rest I deal with the pain
Patiently waiting for him to come home
And say that was my last day

The leaves fall down,
My motivation too.
Just yearning for winter
Or something else to do.

I cling on, push myself
With each and every task.
I'm barely hanging on,
It's too much to ask.

To the branches and twigs,
The leaves remain strong.
Stacks form beneath them;
They will all join the song.

Yet as the leaves fall,
I can see a clearing.
My vision is regained;
My ears are hearing.

There's beauty around;
The foliage is red.
It merely suggests change;
The trees aren't dead.

Instead of wilting
Just like the flowers,
I can enjoy the minutes
And be present in the hours.

Floral death lies amongst
The pumpkins that grow;
When the days are long,
It's okay to take it slow.

The children find joy
In trick-or-treat.
There's maple, pumpkin,
And apple to eat.

In autumn you may
Lose your spark,
Just as the maples
Expose their bark.

There's also the chance
To ******* your boots.
Stay grounded like the oaks
Who find strength in roots.