schedule change

i was watching Treme for the music
and it was lighter than Six Feet Under
but more profound than Star Trek Enterprise
and not a psychic kick to the guts like Mad Men
some days I need the lighter notes
not just some dramatic pentatonic scale

i want to remind myself in florida sunlight
that we are not in a place of winter
and nothing is as dark as it seems
and you can choose to leave shadows behind
and not everything is drama genre bleak and fucked up


in the land of common sense

these peanuts may contain nuts
this inflatable roll in your jigsaw mat won’t save lives
don’t stack babies in plastic containers
this bag may suffocate you
these scented pens aren’t edible
this hot coffee may scauld

in the land of common sense
is everyone so dense?
do you need you hand held like this?
or is trust an aspic kiss?

all the sheeple are doomed anyhow
fuck it, i’m with stupid now
the knitting of the lowest brow

at the crosswalk

i watch at you at the crossroads
which way to jump?
the buttons you pump
you and your wife and your baby
hanging on a traffic light maybe

you see me working towards you
and you change your direction
you do not smile, you look away
walking quickly on your way
sullen indecisive family

your insides bleed

some things i read
some things i don’t need
psychic detritus
our friends invite us
to partake in
because they felt a break in
their own calm and need to spread
the slick from out of their head

my eyes are trying to find some balm
i want it again to be calm
antisocial media is a anxiety farm
careless people doing you harm

switch it off
cure the data drain, the cough
all that pain you do not need
mixing it in with your feed
you look doped up, your insides bleed

slow post coma wake

slow post coma wake
needs to pick up speed
all the things you let impede
anchors let the chaos feed
no oiled machine
on which the sweat will bead

all those complications
chaotic gyrations
locked at your stations
weak protestations
and no celebrations

we have to all move faster
there are games to master

Sick Day Three

it collects in the muscles
and corrects the movements
with its own logic
i am a push to move across the room
flown in flu

these days are trapped light
they are shut out sun
they flee and arrive when switched
thick cloying shadows
safety lines written, turned cobweb

it is a drag on too long
it is a worn out earworm
it has outstayed its welcome
i want to walk out of it
into a new energy

sick day the sequel

the fever broke
but the cough is a scrape of steel on steel
a fracture crack on the real
i stand to let my head spin
open the door and lock
and walk to get the mail
a poetry book and a magazine

i am locked in to watching the screen
lives rolling by, divining what they mean
and do you forget the actor’s face in the role?

and my appetite returns
i drink liquid
to cough up crap
waiting for the flu to surrender
waiting for the cough to terminate