The days and months and
years pile up, until you’re left
with what could have been.

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Maybe we could vote
tomorrow and end the long
stream of ads, pundits.

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So much is riding
on this, as eyelids refuse
to close for slumber.

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Stuffy warehouses
feed on wandering strangers
beneath the forum.

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What’s worse: being axed,
facing the ax, or grinding
through a sucky job?

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Scrunchy face makes for
tension frowns and furrowed ruts
betraying uncalm.

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I want a pony,
one I can call “Princess” and
feed carrots by hand.

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Make up the lyrics
and forget the ones that come
originally.

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Great cinema comes
when theater avoids rings,
chatter and glitches.

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Sculpture garden blasts
DJ’s grooves as ingenues
take summer’s last gasp.

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Aunt Lulu stepped off
the front porch to shoo the stray
dog eating her weeds.

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Misfortunes, mayhem
strike over and over. When
will sad season end?

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Dull gray blanket wraps
tightly around parched landscape
slowly drying out.

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“Hello, cancel my
subscription to beamed-in crack.
I’m snorting Netflix.”

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Our comfortable
existence rarely crosses
paths with downtrodden.

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