a house

a house full of art
a house of head and heart
a house full of writing
a house of play fighting
a house full of cats
a house for two turtles
a house fo two lovers
a house to welcome friends who love us

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put together

the days i am defeat
are replete
the projects i have to complete
sat at my feet
in peaces
i know what peace is
i remember what sleep is
i wish i didn’t know what defeat is

these instructions
all the nuts and bolts
the manufacturing faults
instruction writing dolts

i want to walk away
leave it all unfinished
if it’s a game
i don’t want to win this
something like blame
or shame sits inside me
a monkey sewn to ride me

one war
not a won war
a feeling of bad weather
tied to some kind of tether
i am not well put together

homeless dance

up from behind the bush
buttoning up her blouse
and the homeless move around
as if choreographed
crossing the road in a pirouette
all with faces you wouldn’t forget
humans in a whirlwind

i stand, fixed to the spot watching
thinking there has to be a solution
no notion to not look and not notice
and not help
and not forget that these are human beings
and that they fall on hard times

the late wake

the late wake
is a sunday thing
a cat philosophy
something i’m trying to break
i want to be up early and working
not horizontal and shirking
a cat lays and basks
i want to be completing tasks
i’m a coffee driven writer
a literary prizefighter
not an allday snoozer
a time loser
an easy ride chooser
a lay back boozer
a scant sleep grabber working all the time
time wasting is something of a crime
i have something to say, don’t want to be a mime

on two wheels

no one has bells on their bicycles anymore
they just holler out behind you
and no one knows how to use their gears
legs rolling around in extra effort
parked on the kickstand
you are pissing against the wall
pedestrians beware
bicyclists despair

you sprint past me on your mountain bike
and wait to ambush me for money
asking donations for a sandwich
as i trudge past on foot

sorry dude
i’d be buying my own sandwich
if the rent weren’t due
i’m hustling just like you

blood in water

blood in water is a beautiful flowing rose
blood in stool is another kind of problem
age is an odd flowering
where mortality perfumes your life
and you start looking at the children around
and wondering how you might continue yourself
by downsizing the urge into something new
that reminds you of the lost you
and then you will come to understand
that something new is not a mirrored hand
it is something far better than you could explain
when you kneel into a prayer you would never utter
until you wanted to become a father or a mother

smart and art people

there are smart people
and there are art people
sometimes they’re the same
and then there are those who court pain
seek to appear sane while promoting insanity
claim they are doing good, denying the vanity

some you like to be around
others, you shut out the sound
wait for them to be run to ground
rabid dogs in the pound
sadly, examples abound