The search
for inspiration
at my desk or
in my bed.
Typed
or handwritten.
Spoken or
cursed
Pencils lack the
longevity
Pens constantly
lose traction
over bumpy
roads.
Tomorrow I'll be
carving a tablet
of stone
while hanging
from
the rafters
like a bat.
2.
Holding my tongue
is a three person job;
always knowing the
correct
and proper way
to entertain notions
and diffuse
tension.
But I don't
tolerate
much.
Don't expect me
to be thrilled
at all your
accomplishments.
Don't expect me
to look up
from my clinking
ice cubes
and shake
your hand.
Waves of clear
ice water
dancing against
golden liquor.
Never break the
concentration
of a person
deciphering the mysteries
of their cocktail.
I bite.
3.
Chasing the dream;
wondering when stiff drinks
and toilet paper will be
given out as
rations.
Essentials of the
common
human.
I need bread and
water
I want
coffee from drinking fountains
and scotch
from the government;
economics of an
impoverished soul.
I'm ashamed to want a house
and a partner to hold;
dodging materialism and misogyny
by a hair's breath
wondering if love
really is
demeaning.
All the while
you're
sitting in your
breakfast nook
shoveling organic sugar
into
"free trade"
or
"pure conscience"
coffee.
How's that
working out
for you?
4.
It's been too long
since
the messages taken over
the phone
were more important
than
the doodles in
the margin.
Tiny circles, nonsensical
devices and
lyrics from something
in the back
of my mind
Always outweighing
the dentist's follow-up
or the long past due
phone bill.
Someday
I'll refinance something
Till then
this rocket-ship
needs
a cloudy blue yonder.
5.
A gentile saxophone
plays an outro
in the remaining few
minutes of the four o'clock
hour.
A last dance for a busy night
The raspy speaker
speaks the
slow sensibilities
of the 1930's
"...goodbye and farewell
I shall return to shore soon..."
With that
the golden light fades
a few cracks
a pop
and a thumping loop
as the needle
revisits
the end.
for inspiration
at my desk or
in my bed.
Typed
or handwritten.
Spoken or
cursed
Pencils lack the
longevity
Pens constantly
lose traction
over bumpy
roads.
Tomorrow I'll be
carving a tablet
of stone
while hanging
from
the rafters
like a bat.
2.
Holding my tongue
is a three person job;
always knowing the
correct
and proper way
to entertain notions
and diffuse
tension.
But I don't
tolerate
much.
Don't expect me
to be thrilled
at all your
accomplishments.
Don't expect me
to look up
from my clinking
ice cubes
and shake
your hand.
Waves of clear
ice water
dancing against
golden liquor.
Never break the
concentration
of a person
deciphering the mysteries
of their cocktail.
I bite.
3.
Chasing the dream;
wondering when stiff drinks
and toilet paper will be
given out as
rations.
Essentials of the
common
human.
I need bread and
water
I want
coffee from drinking fountains
and scotch
from the government;
economics of an
impoverished soul.
I'm ashamed to want a house
and a partner to hold;
dodging materialism and misogyny
by a hair's breath
wondering if love
really is
demeaning.
All the while
you're
sitting in your
breakfast nook
shoveling organic sugar
into
"free trade"
or
"pure conscience"
coffee.
How's that
working out
for you?
4.
It's been too long
since
the messages taken over
the phone
were more important
than
the doodles in
the margin.
Tiny circles, nonsensical
devices and
lyrics from something
in the back
of my mind
Always outweighing
the dentist's follow-up
or the long past due
phone bill.
Someday
I'll refinance something
Till then
this rocket-ship
needs
a cloudy blue yonder.
5.
A gentile saxophone
plays an outro
in the remaining few
minutes of the four o'clock
hour.
A last dance for a busy night
The raspy speaker
speaks the
slow sensibilities
of the 1930's
"...goodbye and farewell
I shall return to shore soon..."
With that
the golden light fades
a few cracks
a pop
and a thumping loop
as the needle
revisits
the end.
2 comments:
Shame is a waste of time. Go after what you want; take it or it will slip away and slip away and slip away. And then you are left alone with regret. And regret only knows the choke-hold.
Good work here.
You bite? So do I...:) Again you have taken this reader on a beautiful ride. I hear the lazy sax and dream of the yellowed dancing candle light reflected off the icy squares that adorn your glass...
Tigra
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