Small inconveniences More annoying than hurtful The aborted plans and wishful thinking Left under stifling heat I watched from afar but not far enough Actual experience different from expectations Both … Continue reading The Sting of Halted Expectations
Function or waste?
Is it not for convenience’s sake?
I find it hard to believe, oh copper’s friend
Is so weak as to break and not bend
Alternatives though is miracle-rend
Brother to officer’s gun
The same hands hold you two
The same finger that grasps the trigger
With your absence things are messy
Sticky lips, lollipop digits
A grateful snack
The signed-off patrolman’s dessert
To pee is as natural as it is annoying
It’s a healthy inconvenience
Something primal and instinctual
Liquid in, liquid out
Woe to those in long car rides
Or those exploring in parts unknown
Your body is against you
Marking a trail away from home
It’s misfortune for it to be a struggle
It’s herculean to hold it in
This functioning bladder of mine
Is an opponent that always wins
Friendship is a funny thing,
The way it changes the rules.
A phone call can be exciting
Mutual interests binding like glue
You’re suddenly willing to do favors
And it’s a relief to be able to complain
No strings, just reciprocating
Fun, games, anti-stressing
A relationship blooming in time
Trusts earned almost painlessly
Through joy and care and mutual secrecy
A found family that is mine
Men are puzzle pieces,
Their rough edges point in
Towards cuts and bumps of a pretty inner life.
No piece more important,
no piece unnecessary,
Society is a puzzle made of intersecting pictures
Shaped by space,
Subject to time
Ever shifting shades of evolving design
Mankind builds a puzzle.
One subject for all
For man to live in harmony,
Both great and small
In my heart lies a glass door
Behind it lies a demon
pretending to be a saint
Her room, blood red
adorned with pictures
A secret hall of fame
Different emotion, different frame
She won’t stop herself from going
Better broken than dead
Where can’t she go?
Earth to Heaven,
Joy rides past Hell
Don’t you dare trust her
She’s too much for her own good
Her emotions lead to ruin
Her frailty spells doom
Cracks beneath the surface
It’s a plain fragile thing
my heart is a glass door
I keep it protected
trapping my demon inside
I keep it padlocked and hidden
This glass door of mine
Treat it like buried treasure
Heart-spoken silicone dioxide
Computers: The modern informer.
Connecter of nations,
you who has brought us: relief and stress,
sleepless nights and lazy mornings;
great and terrible news.
How long have I spent with you for my own purposes and whims?
But, Alas I cannot love you!
I find you cold and indifferent.
Your monitor displays no inspiration.
Only icons and data are your priority.
You aim for perfection, yet you were made by imperfect hands;
your precious data imparted by imperfect minds.
You who have no loyalty;
yet everyone wants to befriend you.
Anonymous keeper of secrets,
you share to anyone who knows how to press your buttons.
The controller has become controlled.
The unseen power has caused a sick obsession.
Are we truly advanced?
If we can connect with strangers then why can we not connect with family?
Does this world have nothing to offer, that we need to create new ones?
Is tradition outdated?
Oh! Citizens of Cyberspace, hit the like button
how dependent are the masters to their creations,
the Systematic Destroyer.
I’d like to grow
until I’m ten feet high.
Not grow wide,
stretching from side to side
Like a skyscraper,
Built to reach the stars.
Not like a farmhouse,
Face red, Beef marked.
To Grow like a mountain,
The pinnacle of tall.
Not be like a molehill,
Insignificant and small.
To be like a tower,
Not like the hut,
Death by pizza, suicide.
Just like spaghetti
I wish my spine could stretch.
Instead of my pants,
No belt buckles to fetch.
I’m vertically challenged
In case you haven’t heard.
But don’t call me fat.
Supersized is my word.
Head tilted skywards
In supplication for caffeine
From my cup’s bottom arises a dirty, brown stained moon
Unwasted colored remains
A reminder of what I do
How I function
In the craters of a recyclable moon
My awakened caffeinated desires reflected
Into pretty trash, a mundane consideration
I toss the cup away
An air of intentionality
A certain gravitas in my working
My reading, my typing
It’s not just leisure but effort
The blossoming ideas tended by lack of outings
I miss the noise
No, not the noise the background
Muted but ever present
With the world and time passing
As I sit quietly in my corner
Visiting streams of consciousness
Close enough to dip your toes in