9pm

We walk
into
your good
friend's home

and sit
down by
the clock.

And all
I do
is tic.

And all
you do
is talk.

An Automated Telemarketing Machine Service Puts Me On Hold

I am ignored systematically
by an emotionless machine.

The satisfaction gained
by hanging up on another person is lost.

I wait on the line
for the next available human.

The music has been proven
"easy listening" to ease stress.

I tell some woman
it was like asking a copy machine

for a date and receiving
an "out of ink" message;

like being told you should
see other people in text speak.

She wouldn't shut up
and let me talk,

carrying on
about my long distance carrier

in an unwavering,
monotone drawl.

On A Bench

Over the bench they draped a checkered blanket
like a picnic. A cold blue fills the gaps
where leaves laid down to rest
on the dew-laced lawn of a park.

She raises an arm, rakes her fingers through
bristled fur, leans against her lover,
whispers plans for the future,
as beer pools on the concrete.

Their dog turns in his sleep, arches his back,
ears pointed, roving for the sound
of a misstep. From across the street
I can hear the sound of a hearth
through the window of a home they built.

Everyone Will Exit The Theatre

The lights come on. I wish for another feature.
A chandelier glows incandescently
then everyone will exit the theater.

My own funeral; I look so bitter
eating and drinking everything that's free.
The lights come on. I wish for another feature.

A time machine to catch another year.
A fresco impersonates Bill Murray
then everyone will exit the theater.

My guests are in costume, dressed as creatures.
I am Bill Murray waiting hopefully.
The lights come on. I wish for another feature.

I want you to pick me, chaos theory,
bind my work together, seal the ennui
then everyone will exit the theater.

What won't be taken by the weather,
the changing hands, and time's erosive freeze.
The lights come on. I wish for another feature
then everyone will exit the theater.

That transportation, I will never trust(Dylan Thomas Cover)

That transportation, I will never trust.
I thought I was too worn and tired to care.
Rage, rage against the passage of the bus.

At once it rumbled, covered me with dust.
I took a couple breathes and did not swear.
That transportation I will never trust.

Arriving early, waiting is a must.
I hate how other riders sit and stare.
Rage, rage against the passage of the bus.

The price is always in a state of flux.
I fumble through my pockets, pay the fare.
That transportation, I will never trust.

I had made my mind, I would not cuss,
but what came next was more than I could bear.
Rage, rage against the passage of the bus.

"I hope you know we're going downtown, not up"
My eye began to throb and twitch, "to where?"
That transportation, I will never trust.
Rage, rage against the passage of the bus.