not even a wide spot
Wednesday, April 18th, 2012The cashier eyed the
road wearily, waiting for
her next lost driver.
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The cashier eyed the
road wearily, waiting for
her next lost driver.
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Calculating my
fair share costs more than simply
emptying pockets.
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The voyage takes us
to an unknown land, the soul
without signposts.
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The neon remains
unlit as travelers walk
past bar after bar.
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The gurus and the
campers held forth over beers
and bright ideas.
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He could not mask his
down-home ways with fancy suits
and urbane patter.
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The French take three bites,
I have been told, to stay thin.
We just bite bigger.
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A boy builds his dreams
from cardboard boxes and lets
the world in to play.
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Mayhem and mistakes
swarm misbegotten souls who
topple under stress.
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Listen up, children,
to hear tales of days that came
post-prosperity.
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The CEO called
the manager who texted
the peon who slept.
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His legs lost in war,
he greeted park visitors
with poisonous slurs.
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Fanatics spend their
time perfecting painted sneers,
gruesome visages.
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Only when the mind
can slip free can we feel the
embrace of stillness.
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The clock runs backwards
while waiting and waiting in
the doctor’s office.
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