"chuckling" poems
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard
I wasn’t supposed to call out for your arms in the night
And my lips weren’t supposed to search for yours
As if they would actually be there.
I wasn’t supposed to nuzzle into my pillow at night
pretending that your hands were nestled in my hair
I wasn’t supposed to make small talk
just so I could hypnotize myself with that something in your eyes
I wasn’t supposed to wake up cold in the gray morning
with the strong urge to be bruised and bitten
In fits of slow, languid passion.
Unreal how our bodies match and move together,
Uncanny how our minds meld and play in synch.
My youthful love for life,
Your chuckling maturity, still unsure what life is.
Now I play soft ballads full of aching, yearning,
I can wrap myself in a blanket on the floor
With a mug of tea, and think silently on you
And the shadows I wish I could conjure into existence…
They live inside, dancing to burst free from our guilty bodies
Too ethereal, too beautiful, to be abandoned
When we (artists) know we live for such wonders.
I wish I had any other option but forgetting,
or descending into madness.
(I’m currently choosing madness..?)
And it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard.
I’m so sorry,
My summer love.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
I love everything about you. I love your smell, from the way your cologne and deodorant sticks to your freshly washed skin to the way your natural musk smells when you sweat through a hot summer night stuck to me. I love how your skin is always soft, it brushes up against my thighs and cheeks like a blanket of the highest quality. Your voice is deep, but comforting and I adore all the sounds your body makes, especially the little grunts and sighs. When you speak soft words in my ear, I just melt into soft butter and I even love the way your silly words tease me, even when I get upset. Your bone structure is manly, but in a way that your body wraps around mine ideally when we hug. The way your eyes sparkle in the sunshine is like fairy dust and I could get lost in your gaze forever.
Your hand fits into mine perfectly and your tongue twists perfectly with mine when our lips collide. The movement of your hips with mine is like a metronome to my heart. All you could do is sleep and eat and I would never get tired of watching you. If you were a colour, you would be your favourite, purple, because it represents devotion, pride, mystery, magic and nobility. If you were a smell, it would be freshly cut grass on an early summer morning. Most people would say love feels like a sunny summer day, but ours is like one of those spring days where the temperature is fit for flowy dresses, but the sky is filled with some dark clouds that pass in the evening and there is a slight warm wind breezing through everyone's hair. Every single evening when you tell me you love me over the phone my stomach flutters with butterflies. As an item, you would be my favourite comfy old sweater. I love every single imperfection on your skin and in your soul. If I were to describe hanging out and having fun with you, the closest thing I could compare it to is the first bite of a freshly baked warm cinnamon pastry. I used to hate the idea of life, but if we were to create a family I would actually want to grow old with you. If there exists a heaven, it would be us sharing a fresh lemonade and chuckling next to a lake where tiny birds chirp and eat the crumbs of the bread we baked together. If you were a drink, you would be high quality whiskey and lastly, if you were a person, you would be mine.
Aug 15, 2023
Aug 15, 2023 at 6:49 PM UTC
An empty park picnic table
cooled by the light,
whispering breeze,
spotted by the burning
life-giving sun.
I see us there.
chatting,
laughing,
enjoying each others company
in this never-ending summer.
I see myself
dressing up as the wife,
laying out a picnic basket
and table cloth.
Pouring iced tea
into a chilled glass,
Watching the condensation
slide down your fingertips
as your throat
gulps in the refreshment.
I lay a blanket
on the grass,
inviting you to come sit.
We lay.
And that chuckling breeze
picks up
and lifts the whole of
my 1950s homemaker dress.
You smooth it back down,
lowering your hand on my hip.
The wind has stopped,
but you keep smoothing away…
down my thighs,
across my backside,
up my back,
until my head is
cupped in your hands
nearing closer to your face.
I would not call it a kiss,
because a “kiss” is too
short a word, too precise
and too emotionless
to fit this phenomenon.
You embrace me fully
leaving no passion unaccounted for,
no ounce of me left untouched.
I succumb to your embrace
and we start to make love when…
A car horn beeps.
I blink.
Look around, and remember
that I’m sitting in a
library parking lot
looking at an empty picnic table.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:47 AM UTC
eruptive laugher,
hidden by the trees of yesterday,
past the place that's lost it's bridge.
ultimate chuckling,
i think i see smoke.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
You start your journey, the moment the world became your cradle
Experience the possibilities of many opportunities
The cards have yet to determine your precise future
Can't you hear the chuckling of amusement
Your bonds will create an sense of connection
The strings tangles when dealt with confusion
Are you able to turn zero into one
The dog following close behind whispering when you might fall
"Your dreams move you forward."
-Reverse-
That dog is no longer able to whisper guidance as it's truly free
Your dreams no longer blind your perspective
However you remain there, not moving
Unable to accomplish your desires but able to achieve success
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Words tattooed her thighs.
Chocolate hair fell in her eyes.
Muscle queen stomped
gymnastick,
round silver poles.
She was no stripper,
but an athlete
for tips
and hand shakes
and bills in her
cracking her face,
*her face must be
cracking* to
ass-grabbing lions,
prowling LA's
city sierra bored.
I couldn't imagine
Queen Courtney crying.
But upside down,
floating disco lights
exposed pursed face shows.
She girated
sex-lined hips
for tips, not ego.
Splits and tricks
choking chuckling girls
saluting her routine,
tossing one's,
wishing they were ten 0's.
She looked magnificant.
I asked her if she was a gymnast.
She said something like that,
eyes fixed on the sleek floor,
strong arms chilled by the cold —
men with thick wallets and no home.
So I gave her my coat.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
Because
I don't want
ever again to be
a businessman
stuck at a desk,
selling ****
to morons.
I'd rather be
Han Shan,
cold and hungry,
uncertain,
but joyous,
writing poems
to the void
on cave walls,
laughing at vanity,
chuckling
at attachment,
wandering the woods
like a happy ghost
riantly doing real work,
struggling
up one mountain,
down the next.
No path; no plan,
but never lost.
- mce
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
Saul. Babbittz.
Slight variation of the name Paul - sometimes pronounced
with the
"ah-oolll"
of Raul - to intrigue cashiers and toll booth attendents.
These words seem meaningless and even less interesting than the blank white background each letter invades.
And still I thank the God in my stomach that wakes up every once in a while to capture butterflies before I leave the house so I can turn down the sounds in my head that stir the butterflies to a frenzied mess of tangled neurons and synaptic maladjustment.
My interaction goes something like this:
cashier-"do you have a bonus card?"
me-(holding out the pad of my thumb - serious like lava)
cashier-(looking at me with a confused look)
me- "I thought thumb scans were enacted throughout the states. Sorry about that, I just got used to the thumb scan back home in North Dakota".
cashier- (dumbfounded, slightly annoyed)
me- (chuckling-embarrassed smirk) "you know, like a dystopian tracking system?"
cashier- "uh, not really" (avoiding eye contact, rushed transaction) "freak" (under her breath).
butterflies again
I've never even lived in North Dakota!
Just uncomfortable enough to prove that body heat activated "degree" does not provide 24 hour protection...
Next transaction a day later:
me- (silence)
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC
The intimate connection
A closeness
where proximity
is never the issue
words caught from mouth to mouth
like a French kiss of communication
Seductive cognitive stimulation
Tingling understanding
from ear to heart to mind
As soon as the first word uttered
first glance in flight
it's as if
loneliness was never known
The lighthearted playful connection
Laughter released roaring from
the core
A dream fostered by two
to champion the fantastical
adventurous night of
spontaneity and the birth of a different self
Veins, blood, cheeks chuckling
A direct line of yellow energy
from one being to the other
spreading like unconscious permission
allowing comic relief
and free-spirited flight of
words, song, dance
It's as if
consequence of action
never existed
The healing connection
Rage and pain
spouted out of a
heartbroken hose
A desperate hope for rehabilitation
And then another enters the space
Alas, another enters the suffocating space
and pumps oxygen back into the room
for hurled haughty words
and salted wounds
No need to choose a side
the center of the bed, saved for you
to curl and cry and become lost in
another's blanket embrace
Holding exhaustion for you
It's as if you had four shoulders
to hold that world of yours
instead of two
The forbidden connection
Two beings
owned by another
through
rings
or promises
or time
The universe, introducing them
The light accidental brush of a hand
Longing iris to iris
Lust permeating the senses
Logic and sequence futile
Crimson licking up breath,
movement, muscles
It's as if for an instant
a wish thrown out to the stars
to be an article of clothing
hugging crevice, curve, skin
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
On the land of our family
Are the ashes of generations.
Each generation planted with the saplings of the trees
The Cedar, The Fir, The Larch, and The Mountain Ash
Standing regal in the sun's early light.
It is a new day
Standing under their boughs
Comforted by ancestral arms touching
In a circle of Love and Light.
What is emerging?
Sprouting up from under the Sphagnum
It's a seed! Raising its head
Peeking up, and stretching towards the sun.
Ever upward it expands
Though nights of rain and clouds.
Through days of heat and seeming drought.
Yet the seedling grows and endures
Bent by the late summer winds
The fiber of wisdom ever increasing within its core.
At the end of Indian Summer
The frost begins to unleash its chill
The young sapling freezes
As the blanket of white thickens across the land.
With the weight upon it's back
In humility the sapling bends low to kiss the earth.
Bravely holding this asana in the coldest of the winter days.
Today by my window
I am basking in the sunlight of a very early spring,
Bright are shimmering reflections of sunlight snow.
Squinting, with eyes half open and eyes half closed
The small rainbows begin to dance
Between each pair of lashes.
A delighted inner child
Chuckling with joy.
I can hear the sound of water running
And ice falling from the rooftops above.
The snow is finally melting!
The tall cedar boughs dance with the wind.
Up and down, releasing their winter coats
As Ice crystals floating on the air.
Gazing across the white wonder
To the very spot where I last saw our little tree
What of the little seedling?
Is it still alive?
Or broken and crush by the ice and snow?
My musing over the Cedar Sapling
Shifted with a gasping surprise
It sprung up!
Announcing "I am still alive!"
And my inner voice giggled with delight.
Hum, I wonder
Do trees have a heart?
Do they perceive beyond their bark?
Do they remember?
In this very moment the sapling's sudden appearance
During my musing seemed to express, "Yes!"
Is it just a deep enduring feeling
That the elders of this world
Are the 400+ year old Cedars
Keeping their long record of time?
My dear little sapling
may you continue to grow into magnificence.
I will only see your first 100 years.
For your last four hundred
Allow me to lie at your roots
Under the Sphagnum from which you sprung.
And my children will water flowers at your base
That you may grow as the guardian of the ancestor
Who planted your seed and watched you grow.
Yes, the very one who is now delighted that you
Have popped up from under your blanket of snow.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 2:46 AM UTC
but I’m playing my favorite song for you I know
you can’t hear it cuz you’re
too far away I sink into
the beats and my arms are
solid blocks Moving hurts from
missing
you
it’s my turn to stay now, and gently flip
my heart over, a warm toasted
color like the burnt amber
taste aspen leaves get at the end of spring
missing you is the white hot color
of fire yet the bubbles
of yesterday pop
their ice on my eyes You’re chuckling softly
I’m the words and melodies of our simple
bytimes, when you were here, once
singing and burning and becoming
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
A parade of leaves dancing within the willow,
Draping branches dangling in the breeze.
Chattering sparrows
Laughing with the hint of rain.
Rumbles of thunder humming
A loud whisper.
A growing whisper
Takes shelter within the willow,
Quietly humming
A song for leaves in the breeze,
Droplets of rain
Shower the chuckling sparrows.
Feathers of the sparrows,
Drift away, soft as a whisper.
Sprinkling rain
Gets lost within the branching willow,
The feathers play hide and seek in the breeze,
And the thunder continues humming.
The thunder is still humming,
While the feathers of the sparrows
Float in the breeze,
And storm clouds whisper
A strong kiss of wind through the willow,
Allowing a canopy of rain.
The creek floods with rain,
While the rumbling remains humming,
Dancing willow,
The sky imprisons the sparrows
The lightning sings a whisper,
Disguised as a breeze.
The fall leaves stir up in the breeze
Drenched in fresh rain,
Rainbows whisper
Over the thunder’s loud humming,
The return of the laughing sparrows
As they perch within the willow.
The humming of thunder in the distance, the whisper of lightning,
The after smell of rain, lingering in the breeze
The buzzing of sparrows, perching within the willow.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Kiss me,
So I may drown in this amorous affair,
Savoring the delicious taste,
Of your lips against my own.
Hold me,
Your arms clasped around,
My petite body,
Skin touching skin,
Finding warmth in your blanket,
Of security and adoration,
Burrowing into the flowing fabric,
Of your embrace.
Never let me go,
I yearn to hear the inhales,
And exhales of your breath;
You glance at me,
Chuckling in delight,
As your thoughts turn,
To how enchanting you view me to be.
Caress me,
Allowing your firm hands to explore,
The slight curves,
Of a soft feminine exterior,
Yearning for the stroke,
Of your fingertips upon me.
Does love not knock upon the door,
Of your innermost chamber?!
Listen Please,
Silence your scattered thoughts,
Allowing you to hear,
The lulling seductive melody,
Depicting the presence of Eros,
In the heat of the night.
I shall pray you stay,
With fingers tightly interlacing,
For the fates bestow us,
With a blessing,
Perhaps a curse,
Receiving a bond to unite us.
An illicit connection,
In the eyes of others,
Yet I behold my desire,
For you as a dragonfly,
Mysterious and ancient,
A beautiful creature,
Existing almost as long,
As the sands of time,
Flying among the earth,
To be free.
Breathe me in,
Granting me the chance,
To enter your body,
Mind and soul,
Engrossing our spirits,
To complete the other,
Through gazing into,
The eyes of the other.
Cherish me,
As our lips encounter,
Passionately nibbling,
As they collide in portrayal,
Of our irrevocable love,
Tantalizingly sweet
As the Riesling rests,
Within my wine glass,
Tempting me to consume,
Pleasure through the delicious taste,
Awaiting for me.
Reminding me of the same reasons,
I crave you,
My beloved.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
*In mouth, put-
choo-choo kazoo chomp chomp YUM!
Mmmm MMMMMMmmm.
Whosagoodbaby!?
Whosagoodbaby!?*
The infant hears,
wondering if all adults talk this way,
chuckling to himself, the ridiculousness tickling his vibrating mind
looking on at the goofy giant babbling gibberish
who seems oddly ecstatic
to feed colorful mush.
The child contemplates the intricacies of communicating
the smelly in his shorts.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
I had purchased the tickets home ten days in advance to force myself to get back to reality and civilization. My hands were weak from the constant shoveling; my liver the same. Each hour that had passed underneath that sun seemed like a punishment from God himself; a hot whipping sensation that singed the back of my hair and left permanent burn marks streaked across my back. There was no way I would ever forget the constant ridicule and insult from the other workers as I clumsily painted instant concrete on bricks which would soon be a house I would never see. The struggles of the white man seemed to bring a pleasure to the mexican work force that I would never understand which I was both jealous and disgusted by.
Lemino came over gripping a pick axe, large and the color of of a recently picked coconut. "Hey white boy, you need some water?" He threw me a muddied water bottle in a puddle of my sweat. "Thanks Lem. I can barely lift my ********* head in this heat, how do you do it?" Lemino looked up at the sun. "I don't know man." He lifted his finger to the noon hanging sun and said, "Sometimes I just think of the Sun as my woman and I never take no **** from Her so why's that any different." He took a sip of his own water and walked off, his back completely dry and cracked with a mix of mud and concrete.
Jesus, I thought. For someone like that and someone like me to be working on the same house made me wonder why I had ever been brought here in the first place. How did I get here? Why had I been punished so for my work in school, my excellent obedience with peers and with the community? I was not a religious man but I grew up in the land of the free and the brave, how had it come to this? I drank the entire bottle of water throwing it on the sizzling grey brown ground.
"Hey white boy!," screamed a voice from the rooftop. "Throw that **** away or I'll beat the **** out of you when the day is done." ****** I knew someone would see me during any act of comfort or clumsiness. The mexican hyenas chuckled as I stalked guiltily over to empty water bottle. The ten or twelve workers, all shirtless and brown, stood chuckling down on me like some horrific Greek chorus secretly whispering and planning my doomed fate either at a late night discoteca or some run down bar down by the water. Oh lord, how cometh taunt me so?
---
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:09 PM UTC
The Mona Lisa assaults my brain,
Acrid perfume polluting my lungs.
Does the Mona Lisa not care if I die?
I see her chuckling,
Waggling her finger,
Saying with bitter ****
"You'll never be in the Metropolitan Museum of Art."
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
And so I said to him, "Dumbledore beats Gandalf any day."
Chuckling as we ate our Hobbit breakfast.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC
Eve held two cigarettes in her lips and lit them. She passed one to Mark, beside her on the chaise. Thomas was with Delilah in the bedchamber getting a few lessons in life. They were making noises like a slaughterhouse as Mark tried to focus his thoughts.
He left the couch and went to the phone, dialing Satan’s office. Eve watching him with heavy lids, her arm stretched across the curved backboard. She inhaled forcefully, making thick clouds that obscured her face, then her head, and then the whole couch. He was watching her too, wondering what she was up to as Satan picked up the line.
“Yeh?” said the devil.
“Satan, Mark. We’ve got to talk.”
Satan was silent for a moment, then said sharply, “Look, they’ve got wire-taps.
Why don’t you come over here? We can talk in person. It’s safer then taking a chance on them listening.”
Mark thought that was smart, but if they were listening they’d already gotten an earful, but he had to take that chance.
He hung up the phone and fanned the air with his hands. The girl was gone.
He heard chuckling from the bedchamber and realized there were more voices than before, loudly squealing and giggling. He heard Thomas moaning in utter delight and decided to leave him there. As far as Thomas was concerned, Purgatory never felt so good.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
My son, to us, you’re so very special
For reasons not just one or two!
But when you announced your arrival first
At an unexpected time and age-
Was it with joy or fear, still not so sure
That I first felt the faint stirrings of life inside
Sure, when you barged in more like a late night guest
You gifted us with a mixed pack
After eight months of anxious wait
When you showed up a little earlier than due
With a clear shriek and a piercing cry
All our fears vanished, all anxiety fled
Like a cute little kitten with eyes shut
You slept peacefully day and night
Refusing to **** your mother’s breast
That again put your mom in severe stress
You never threw any tantrums wild
As all other babies usually do
Pleasantly gentle with a chuckling smile
You were a spring flower, come alive
You readily accepted the cast away stuff;
Broken toys and milk stained bib,
Faded clothes and the little crib,
Used recklessly by your naughty brother
You never gave us any stress or pain
Even in days of adolescent strain
You were ever gentle and ready to mingle
With eyes lit up with a delectable twinkle
You are endowed with a loving heart
When we are glum, you are by our side
Your compassion, care and abiding love
Are truly gifts, God has blessed you with
You know every nook and corner of the house
Where each little thing placed and kept
If something is amiss inside the house
You run with a click and get it by trick or fluke
As you left for studies, miles away
The house looks empty like an abandoned nest
With no more songs in early dawn
Until once you return to give it a tilt
Time will fly and you’ll be grown
An adult, ready to soar into the world
But you are the reason that keeps us young
And give our tired legs an unusual spring
You lit our yesterdays with hopes for tomorrow
And even after your hairline recedes
Even after you become man and Dad
You remain once and ever our *‘Vava’ dear!
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 6:43 AM UTC
Mercury drips
from cold fingertips
Into cracked teacups
arrayed on a child's play table
"Where is my Alice?"
Chuckling bends the edge of the silence
Chemical cocktails sprayed
Weaponized aerosols
designed to cloud minds
bring dark knights crashing to their knees
Short sickly man
with a blood red head of hair
Stares oh so sweetly
at his darling sweetie
********* the straight edge
concealed in his pocket
Wonderland gang strikes
devices devised for controlling minds
activated
chips in cowls, linked to size eleven hats
Denigration of children's tales
although Lewis Carrol was a ********* they say
either way there is no avoiding
the madness of the hatter.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 5:15 PM UTC
I remember the first breath of life
the blinding light of an innocent world
and the warmth of love and endearment.
I remember the first wobbly steps
through gurgles of a language only I understood
and the toothless smile reflected off my twin on the wall.
I remember the first spark of friendship
when I laughed and you laughed
and we smiled as the red string around our fingers tightened.
I remember the first pounding of my heart
when I locked eyes with smiling eyes
and I swore my heart was racing with the winds.
I remember the first ***** of betrayal
with screams and stares of hate and anger
hands trembling as we cut off the tied red string on our fingers.
I remember the first swell of pride
when I presented a night’s worth of work
and was showered with praise and adoration with smiles painted everywhere.
I remember the first door to literature
with the intoxicating smell of ink and weathered down pages
and lives spoken through words and feelings.
I remember my first shattered heart
frozen and numb with shock and acceptance
with thoughts only on why?
I remember the first light of love
through hugs and accepting smiles
adding to my growing smile and happiness.
I remember the first heartfelt separation
with happy excitement and tearful goodbyes
as I left without looking back.
I remember the first new beginning
as I stared at the foreign neighborhood
and wondered about the million possibilities that laid within it.
I remember the first dawning realization
when I stood alone and clueless
and knew that nobody would come to help me.
I remember the first timid attempt
as I spoke up and tried to connect
desperately clawing myself out of my protective hole.
I remember the first true smile
laughing and giggling and chuckling with friends
in the open air of freedom away from the confined hole.
I remember the first repeats into my shell
when being brave and assertive was too much
and the hole seemed so much more than just a jail.
I remember the first self-hatred
with fear imprinted in my eyes
and how could I let myself continue this way?
I remember the first new change
from the moldable girl who lost her way
to the fiery girl who decided to carve her own path.
I remember the first self-love
when I looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch
as I saw a beautiful girl who worked for what she wanted.
I remember many things,
many firsts of my life,
many positives and negatives,
many unforgettable moments,
which still continue on within a girl;
on and on until the end of time.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
Lisa comes into my room and flops on the bed. The day had been uncompromisingly gray, windy and cold. The night sky was a snowy, blowing darkness, an absolute void that absorbed the campus lights and reflected nothing back. “I’m missing Spring Break,” Lisa she says.
“It doesn’t even seem like Spring Break happened,” I say. “Most Yalies went to Puerto Rico this year, I think, from my sampling.”
“RIGHT?” Lisa said, “EVERYONE says that - we’re in sync. But I enjoyed Paris,” Lisa continued, “I liked your family - no - I LOVED your family,” she amends.
“THAT’s a strong take,” I say, chuckling.
“I watched basketball with your uncle (Rémi) and cousins and helped your grandma cook,” she explains, “I felt like a part of your family.”
“Aww,” I say, “You ARE part of my family now - you’re TRAPPED,” and we laughed.
They invented spring break because after several months, the student mind starts to notice a harsh reality - how much their dorm room resembles a cinder-block jail cell - and starts to wonder how a lifetime of study and stress over grades has gotten them no further in life than the average felon.
We’re at lunch. Lisa says, “Ok, what’s new with you?” Keep in mind we see each other ten times a day.
“Well,” I say, I’ve decided that “The Beatles are for spring.” Lisa laughs. “Stop!” I demand, “I’m going deep. Today’s song is Julia,” I say, “It’s John Lennon’s song to his mom who was run over by a car when he was a child.” “I love that song,” Lisa says.
“Ok, what about you?” I ask.
“My song right now is “Move like a Boss,” Lisa says, “When I’m walking across campus, with my air pods on - I’m intense, don’t get in my way - I’m dangerous, I’ll Will Smith you - I scare me.”
“Good to Know,” I say, wishing I’d gotten a lemon brownie.
Then I add, “I’ve got this presentation on Monday that I haven’t even had time to look at yet. If I don’t get on it by this weekend it’ll be a nuclear-level disaster. I started on it yesterday and the Internet went down for 20 minutes. It was stressful - of course, you don’t know how long the outage is going to be when you’re IN it - and I had THINGS to do - is that convoluted? ”
“No,” Lisa says, nodding in agreement, “losing the Interweb’s traumatic.”
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 7:11 AM UTC
The drone of voices
surround me
controlled chaos
manipulated mayhem
confusion raises
his warty head
as we all
scramble ahead.
Chuckling, chatting
talking and mocking
this office, these people
this here my strife.
I can't wait
for this to be over
I cannot wait
for the silence.
Feb 8, 2010
Feb 8, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC