Deadline is far off,
no need to panic. Except
when it sneaks up fast.

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The dock but a speck,
the ocean swallows us as
we surge through the waves.

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At one point, loud and
clear. But since the storm, the line
crackles with static.

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Even at its worst,
there’s still room to be surprised
at a brand new low.

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The oven has holes
for the cooks to peek out from
while frying themselves.

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Before the lights went
out, the faces closed in and
the sweat came pouring.

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You should look into
mutual funds, you slimy,
brainless, lame asshat.

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One more tug of beer,
a sip and a gulp. Ready
for trouble, as such.

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Space dog careens through
the den, sending poor earth cat
into a tizzy.

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How did I get here?
What’s it all about? Is that
all there is? Why me?

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Music City drowns
beneath stormy onslaught. The
river runs through it.

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The sugar white sands
cannot escape the oily
wrath of poisoned tides.

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The brains took turns at
the mike to divulge what the
world will look like soon.

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Past the strip mall lies
the former Walmart and the
row of used car lots.

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Never felt so close
yet so far from God’s design
trapped in this ballroom.

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