THE RISK OF FIRE

To reduce the risk of fire
I warn you not to hire

Any gals to change your tire

On the road to kingdom come.

To reduce the risk of fire

I warn you not to buy her

Any flowers from Meijer

On the road to your apartment.

To reduce the risk of fire

I warn you not to wire

Socks on the flutist’s lyre

On the road to the high school dance.

Trap Door

2/22/13

“open wide, don’t bite”

says the creepy trap door.

stealing & breaking my heart

was its goal for sure.

the liquid thoughts running down

my mind in jumbled fear

defeat the strength I’ve tried to keep

through all my lonely years.

in every step I take today,

my mind still not awake

I try so hard to wrap my thoughts around

the reality that’s now so fake.

your tracks can be found

still on the surface of my heart.

that trap door you closed me in

still burns today, from the day we tore apart.

all around me

all around me

with scoping eyes

I see the dawn fast coming.

all around me

with listening ears—

so quietly the birds sing.

all around me

with dapper looks

the lunch lady confronts me.

all around me

in grim charade

I know today is it.

all around me

questions arise, saying:

“but if this is it, then what will that be?”

the answer is all around me.

How are we?

-          Doing, well it just goes to say that you are too corporate & if you ease up maybe I wouldnt shit synthetically!

-          Looking, great from an industrialist approach—sure thing that your ol’ buddy mr. perrywinkle may be proud, seeing such bland colors; but then a small approach to things smells like vinegar.

Messy Desk

messy desk, so sloppy & unfit!

the red label on your fast-blast didn’t work on me, man & don’t you even ball end me w/ your super hard shell ®!

14 knives, all pointing towards me—7 shades of gray, darkening by the second, lunging for my throat like a hothead housewife.

messy, messy desk—pig slop, chunky junky—give me a break, boss!

Half A Dozen Dead

Half a dozen dead;
all involved wounded.
The battle seemed so diligent
and then quick to be won.

Half a dozen dead;
hearts racing, soon was
All of the romance forgotten--
with just hope to act on.

Half a dozen dead;
that chilled stale syrup
cast out along with memories
so beaut'fully bitter.

Half a dozen dead;
with heads hanging low,
My patience and pride left in vain--
all else to wither.

State of My Innocence

The ride home abstract as history

Leaves me wanting more than your touch.

The cold chills my bones

Then I remember that summer hasn't come in three years.

Three years almost thrown away,

But caught by your kid brother along the way down.

When might the skies turn vibrant with those colors again?

When might this civil battle cease?

I see it from time to time,

Climbing over the damp grey walls of my life.

The quick glimpse is scolded,

And with a bite as hard as a crocodile, I crawl back to you.