Month: May 2025

This Living

I won't refuse it, this living of mine.
Frustration glares at me like a sign:
My era is ending; I'm losing my way.
That's been true, but why decay
When once I bloomed upon this vine?

You know, once I would decline
Handshakes out of terror. How fine
it is now! Kenny drops by and says hey; 
     I won't refuse it.

I thought I had to change my line.
I thought I had to leave behind
This chapter. Before I never ate,
Now I do with laughter. Why say
That now this humble life's supine;
     I won't refuse it.

Whatever

Whatever can be a beautiful term,
Not just a juvenile linguistic squirm.
The word exists in many forms.
Despite it earning my partner's scorn,
Sometimes the word helps me stand firm.

On occasions when rage in traffic worms
Its way inside, extinguish the burn.
Even if they honk the horn,
Whatever.

When my lover fears I'd spurn
Him for something shallow as a derm;
When he asks me so forlorn
What I'd do to help but a thorn
Of his dreams come true; I reaffirm:
Whatever.

That’s How it Goes

That's how it goes when you're not like the rest:
They lay down the rules that suit them the best,
But some of us play from a different book.
I don't think I'm above it, I'm no crook;
An addict perhaps, if I have transgressed.

Those of our kind, our static's possessed
By demons of sickness set to divest
Us of joie de vivre by their seething hooks.
                            That's how it goes.

How can one live at the system's behest?
None can be civil with spirits oppressed
By an inner void which hurts just to look
At, let alone have the courage to brook.
I have nothing to add nor to contest,
                              That's how it goes.

The Superstar

The superstar of a single block
Is irrelevant on another's clock.
He's made his crowd scream and shout,
But anywhere else he has no clout.
If he's a headcase he's in for a shock.

Once he leaves he's a line of chalk.
Who'll care if someone should hock
Any blasphemy about
                                    The superstar?

At first it'll all seem inside-out,
But is there ever really a doubt
That after he's gone life continues to walk
Ahead, away from yesterday's talk?
That corner will still exist without
                                    The superstar.

I am the corpse no one expects

I am the corpse no one expects,
One of those whose demeanor affects
The pleasantries of happiness;
But underneath there snaps duress,
Whip-like in vicious dialects.

A melancholy which vivisects
The soul. Simple becomes complex
For the wretch whom no one would guess
           I am.

Misery in stasis directs 
Toward a grave; emotion collects
In a gutter where I compress
From our dimension down one less.
As one of secret derelicts,
                                             I am.

Roadkill

Death on the roadside
unexplainable
byproduct of killing life
who could ever know whom

seeking identification 
or if the skull isn't smashed to bits 
dental records
what if they had no teeth

witnesses what do they know
not for inculpation
no one knows their name
unknown Corpse
Roadkill

biohazard crew comes by
disposes of what lived yesterday
if only one person sees it
no one does

what if they're not human 
not even john doe
deposited on the shoulder
Carrion for the sun to bleach

what if they were my friend
what if only i know their name
then no one knows
i was never interviewed

passing on
so unceremoniously
my killing life demanded my time
i didn't even stop

mangled skeleton
with its wings still stretched
beautifully hideously macabrely
fly away from this cursed world 

can one even offer prayers
in this new mode of living Death
living and thereby murdering
sometimes quickly often slowly

i pray the friends i no longer see
are not and will not be
this unlucky one
what good is that to him

when each of us goes out
for groceries or work or just for pleasure
on our final road trip to Death 
every one will be our collective fault.