I could be kind

but when I meet the man

I can't help but think

You are a vile creature

How does your wife stand

to look at you now?

I'm not the best

at kindness, though.

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Little miss Bobble Head

says Gay the wrong way

I could be a more forgiving

person, but I still hold this

small verbal transgression

against her Bobble mouth.

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We are headed somewhere

bound to this road, neither lane

for passing

Ambling on slowly

behind the rock truck ahead

Trying to keep up

with the sportscar speeder

edging us along behind

We will know it when

we get there.

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Everything has a price

Even the smallest kindness

Definitely belonging

Costs us a small fraction

of who we are supposed to be,

trading our selves for tokens.

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Here is the homemade

vintage, slurps

down beautifully on a hot

summer day

Cooling you with the fruit

of the vine

bottled and distilled.

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Where to place it best

that strange levitating mark

that magically lives above

the rest

forming our wonderful contractions

showing what we own

a selfish little mark

but it saves time now and then.

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Verona Beach?

Been there

South America?

Been there

Been there, Been there,

he says, knowing full well

He's been nowhere

Living other people's

postcard dreams.

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Today the mix is off

too sugary, too sweet

not sure how to be

Take something bitter

to balance it all out

drink it quick

before it hits the blood.

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Vibrant bursting

night life wakes me

promises me

screens and images

that turn out empty

blank staring back

at the vacuum

in my own eyes.

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Call him what you will

he means well

just peddling his wares

No need to judge

the poor author for a little

speck of fiction.

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hair so grand

it's got to be a strand

from another source

piled up high

nearly kiss sky

a false topping.

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I am the number

that hangs above the other

dividing and conquering

balancing the equation

balancing life

in a series of repeating 

decimals.

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in this quiet world

of sweeping slopes

you will find an image

of me

tucked away

a portrait for peaceful

safe keeping.

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that mountain

is a sleeping giant

who fell on hard times

victim of the recession

who never returned

to his mythical job.

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a dream of lust

in rubber boots

splashing in my mind

I do not care to remember.

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the night is too late

food that did taste bad

suddenly tastes good

a waitress who horrified me

is now winking

it's much too late

now time to go.

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Let them learn their

paycheck English

practice their grammar

then see if it cashes out.

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I push myself

to the fence

another word

another verse

another sound

I push myself

to say more

only to find

an end mark.

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I read these dark images

so that I could find my way

across the expanse of tattered

map

only to discover

I was headed for a fastfood restaurant

the whole time.

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party favor

late night

a new year

same problems

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you press me

you want me to squeeze

into a fine wine

but I am too grainy

there are thorns here

that will poison

you at each step.

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