I wanna have lunch with Poe,
at Burger King,

because I'm sure he would appreciate how ghoulish that King in their commercial is

I don't want him to recite verse
while we fill our medium cups with corn syrup nectar--a giant leap
down from laudanum

I do want to ask about the Cask of Amontillado and being walled in slowly, for eternity

for to me that is creepier than all the crimson cream in the Masque of the Red Death

I want to know if he likes the fries--will he dare to dip them in scarlet paste we call catsup

mostly I want to know if he remembers the alley where he was found,

not yet a legend, consumed by consumption and delirium in equal measure

and if there were rodents privileged to hear his last whispered words--or even a gasp

I am buying, Ed, so grab that Whopper with both bony paws and tell me terrible tales, evermore

In class the ******* and white tick-tock pinched
my mid-morning belly. When everyone else
borrowed numbers, my pencil lead and yellow paint
scratched out hunger. Minutes chugged like school
buses.  Even columns of three-numeraled numbers
minused the bottom line, scold of lunch.

A borrowed quarter and dime from the office,
meant a secretary’s red-lipsticked mouth, bent
and accusing.  Her coiffed curls shook my dreams.
I would starve before sailing into that office
for my little belly, but forever yearned for the secretary
to pet my hair. Say, “There, there,”like to a character
in a book rosy with girls in gingham dresses.

But, for all those lovely boats of hot lunches: meatloaf
with crusts of catsup like a winter cap, buttered beans,
dinner rolls
and cold-cartoned milk, not watered down--

Missing lunch,  I'd hide out in the cold storage
room of sack lunches next to the playground.
While the others ate, I'd escape at the right tick
into the recess of blacktop and tetherball.

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The gravel and dust is at eye level
That happens when you are sliding on your roof
The wheels are in the air pointing out your mistakes
I thought about a priest but I cut out the middle man

It’s like living on catsup and boiled water
The soup really doesn’t help but tells the story
There’s no glory in digesting a metaphor for your life
But at least it’s not from somebody else’s can

You see the rocks and leaves fall into their destiny
The tsunami of time and chance does not think about you
It just rolls over you and is shocking in it’s immoral decisions
You thought karma was on your side but that’s not the plan

I bought lunch for a stranger the other day
I overheard her telling the waitress her troubles
I decided to be her angel but she never knew who I was
Now I’m miles away and wondering who am I better than?

I know the answer and you don’t have to point me in the right direction
It’s not something that I can’t sense on my own
Giving twenty dollars away is not exactly setting the world on fire
One day I’ll face the music instead of living life on the lam

Irony..phhht...life is a vacuum
I breathe deeply
gasping for air,cant catch my breath
hearts implode chest pains bring death
headaches whenever I scope in depth
why try when minds eye see's no logical reason "Y"
crooked and broken I embrace the deft in life
struggling to stay alive and escape the scythe
what did you leave but pieces.whats left?
a world of torture,a world of pain
had I known its goal was to drive me insane
deep into the wombs of yesterday I'd burrow
escaping the dept of tax on the two cups I borrowed
life is a journey with no certainty of tomorrow
yet everyone's into gain
heaping upon yourselves sorrows of joy
without heed to how it causes another pain
just when I'm enjoying the sunshine
it always starts to rain
life's a joke
we all get caught in the game
caught in a whirlwind same old new **** over and over again
bleeding reality like a catsup stain
In all this hear what im saying
save me the *******,save me the pain
save me from the storms as I stand in the rain
the ukulele plays,as my hearts caught with strays
all of the lights from all of my days, I squint as I gaze
I see clearly as blacks turn to grays
nights turn to dawn
the band plays on,I yawn
I say to life goodbye,as darkness retreats back to beyond
I drop my empty snifter licking my lips of cognac residue
as the sun climbs the lawn and life starts anew!

I smell cookies baking
There are no cookies baking
What do I smell?

A childhood memory to a
Time and place of comfort?
Wanting the past to last?

Other triggers:
Grilled cheese sandwiches
Campbell’s tomato soup
Breaded fish sticks
Polka-dotted Wonder bread
Liverwurst and catsup
The tasty tang of tang

The nose knows; I’m
Olfactory traveling
Memory meandering

Still, I really smell
Those cookies baking…
I want to go home again

Black coffee and waffles , hashed potatoes , catsup , country music and cigarettes ... It's sad for the memories we could have made but you are too beautiful for a man like me !

Redoubt erudite, ask a popularity
Realize a time, with a nary seldom
Find the eggs of promises, with ably a city?
Know a friend silent, but offering a kept question...

Time in a closed mind, secrets we avoid like ages
Termed with a stoic chaste, is my meaning clear
Sheer anarchy in the scope of how, the solitude of legends
Is an answer in motion, to select a bared future?

Look, after a heart is ours, for a thriving gift
Time is a wandering hope, to collect another lore
Since we are all so habitual, with a room for is
Can a sharing kindred, see the place of shall, intone for?

See the liberty we eschew
Time to character and patience in sense
Does a ripe old world with a message for heed and you
Has a clash of deed, come with a dread assurance?

Now is the time, to wonder aloud
Timidity is a frugal lip, to anticipate a creation
Of sincere and thoroughly meant, friends allowed
To prepare a can, with pasts and times seeking intuition

Needs in a finished won, the time of its life...
Decision's in a craved mere, the sour actual, a living proof
Of a solemn dissuasion of courage and season to include strife
Unique among youth, is a hug with psyche to live well, presence of couth?

I wanna have lunch with Poe,
at Burger King,

because I'm sure he would appreciate how ghoulish that King in their commercial is

I don't want him to recite verse
while we fill our medium cups with corn syrup nectar--a giant leap
down from laudanum

I do want to ask about the Cask of Amontillado and being walled in slowly, for eternity

for to me that is creepier than all the crimson cream in the Masque of the Red Death

I want to know if he likes the fries--will he dare to dip them in scarlet paste we call catsup

mostly I want to know if he remembers the alley where he was found,

not yet a legend, consumed by consumption and delirium in equal measure

and if there were rodents privileged to hear his last whispered words--or even a gasp

I am buying, Ed, so grab that Whopper with both bony paws and tell me terrible tales, evermore