The Donut Hole

Empty space

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

Delicious danger

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

Bladder Blather

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

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

Puzzle Pieces

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

Glass Door

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

Ode On Computers

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, 

Strength personified.

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.

The Moon at the Bottom

Drinking coffee,

Head tilted skywards

In supplication for caffeine

From my cup’s bottom arises a dirty, brown stained moon

Brown-bottom Styrofoam

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

Task fulfilled

Coffee consumed

Goodbye moon

What I Miss While in Quarantine

An air of intentionality 

A certain gravitas in my working

My reading, my typing

It’s not just leisure but effort 

Finishing goals

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