Focusing on the now instead of the
past or future.
Hoping naked, heavenly women fall into my
bed.
Egad,
they could never have existed anyway.

Quiet day at work.
Sadly, the fire alarm
was over quickly

What is poetry?
Beyond words and structure
isn't it just you?

Shaking skinny finger
bones
Running snot-bubble percolating
noses
Giving silent prayers and requests
to the pillows and
ceilings of the world

They go unanswered

and these silently sobbing
confused, misplaced
souls are stuck
in this churning void
that's called
ACCEPTING THE HAND YOU'RE DEALT
and
a juxtaposition of WHAT SHOULD HAPPEN,
WHAT WILL HAPPEN, and
a "**** it" attitude.

Hard, featureless faces
judging without being
caught.
Looking down noses
with no purpose
seeing only their
predisposed inclinations
on who we are.

Rusted, locking up
adrift in oceans
of bodies.
******* bike!
Leaving me alone and
immobile
with only an awkward smile
and quiet apologizes.

Eyes that give
half recognitions
with almost
audible clicks
and the universal
amp that is
the human
ivory smile,
drives it home.
Deaf hands moving
with blunt precision,
fumbling for alarm
clocks, bra hooks,
chem notes and
silent red cups.
Doing essential jobs
that essentially
involve doing
nothing.