100 Poems in 100 days; the last 25

76. BLACK FRIDAY HAIKU                                                           11/27/15

Overspend today
And over ate yesterday.
Fat America!

 

77. MODNO RUBETS                                                                     11/28/15

parodiya modnom poezii
Snakes coil
                      in the moon’s glow
         while we slough off
                            the shards of years
       the heft of it,
               flashing like fish
  in stately clouds
        through which ravens
                            cross, in their dreams

 

 

78. THE FIRST RACE                                                                     11/29/15

In the crush of boys surrounding me at the party celebrating my seventeenth birthday, a dozens of other boys from my class crowding around me, I cut into the round white cake. In another admission contest, one seventeen years and nine months earlier, I—or half of me anyway—had also been the winner. A competition with higher stakes, a quarter billion applicants, and an admission rate of exactly one.

 

 

79. DAYTRIP                                                                                    11/30/15

It started with stir-crazy boys
who needed to get out,
and a mom, desperate
to avoid some computer work.
Next, take a dad, feeling guilty for
not spending more time with them.

Mix in a full hour

of suggestions, vetoes,
alternatives, and ultimatums.
Finally, add to taste
compromise, apathy, and a little
creative research.

Then pack the lunch:

leftovers, fruit,water bottles,
energy bars and cookies.
Every one loads into the van, and at last
the outing begins!

Drive up the East Bay,

unload under the redwoods,
hike up and down the hill,
eat the lunch,

stop off in Oakland

on the way out:
get a cup of hipster coffee,
hi-concept instant ice cream,
books at a real bookstore.

Now it’s time to go home:

tired, cranky kids squabble,

tired, cranky wife scolds,
until everyone falls asleep
except the smiling driver.

 

80. DEGONFLÉ                                                                               12/1/15

Today it was that storm drain
sticking out into the on-ramp
that did the tire in,
and next thing I know
I’m flapping on the side of the freeway
at 5 miles per hour.

Yesterday it was that book by Truby

sticking its harsh criticism
into my neatly
chronological story,

and the next thing I know

I'm shredding the first ten chapters
and limping along with the re-write
at 5 words per minute.

 

 

81. STEW                                                                                          12/2/15

Some days, we just want to
Hold onto our grievances
Stew in resentment
And steel ourselves against
The weak excuses
Of the offending parties

Like this person

Who finds little ways to belittle me
And seems to enjoy the process over much--
How much more satisfying
To snicker at her own taste
Than to be a grown up, and just say
"Hey, that hurts."

 

82. LOSING MY BABY                                                                    12/3/15

The one thing parents fear the most
Is the only thing that is guaranteed:
Losing your baby.

For some, it happens in tragedy.

A car accident.
Or a divorce.

If you’re lucky, the loss is harder

to discern. Going off to college, say,
Or moving in with a lover.

But even the best-case scenario--

The kid in school,
or successful businessman--

some beautiful young creature

takes them from you
Leaving you with just their memory

and the bills, of course.

Oh, the bills.

 

 

 

83.  SANTA-IN-TRAINING                                                              12/4/15

Now that it's so cold outside--
now that I'm so busy,
it smells like butter here inside:
we're in a baking tizzy.

Now gyms are inconvenient,

and exercise is moot,
dress in something lenient:
a Santa Claus suit!

You can see how it happened

to the young Kris Kringle:
lots of grog, lots of napping,
let out lots of buckle.

Wear a one-piece velvet suit!

Give up on the shaving!
Convince yourself: on you it’s cute!
The worry that you’re saving!

 

84.  INAPPROPRIATE                                                                    12/5/15

Okay, the neighbor kid
was inappropriate
Doing something wrong--
something forbidden.

But what I want to know is,

which of us hadn't
ever done something wrong
at his age, fourteen?

Who hadn't ever said,

"I think I'll do that"?
and had to spend eternity
apologizing to your parents?

 

85. EVIL INDICATIONS                                                                  12/6/15

The day began propitiously enough
with clouds in the proper places
and just the right amount of fall leaves.

The hangover was cleared off,

dog walked, coffee made and drunk,

newspaper read.

But then, indications began to appear

that something was amiss,
that feeling of dread that took hold…

A dead moth in the youngest boy's ear,

atelephone call from a dead relation,
heavy traffic in the neighbor's driveway,

And before the afternoon was over,

a baby girl had changed identity;
severed body parts were found in the gutter.

That night, alternately

moaning and screeching in abject terror,
The clerks closed down. Boarded up.

Until, at last,

They called the
witch doctor.

 

 

 

86.  TWO RIGHTS DON'T MAKE A WRONG                              12/7/15

He said, "the land in front is public"
He said, "your property line is the edge "
Both were true, and I hadn't known.

Then he said, "that means

I can put whatever I want
In front of your house."

And that wasn't right.

I retorted, "No, you can't block me in."
And I said, "you are an idiot "

 And both were right.

But I was still wrong.

 

 

87. HEAVY EQUIPMENT                                                               12/8/15

Another night of tortured sleep!
Dreams of heavy equipment break-downs.
I work with the crew on setting guide rails,
adjusting feedrates,
checking the wiring.
But the machine won't run steady!

At last, in a sweat, I awake.

At my side, my wife sleeps peacefully,
snoring like a
malfunctioning band saw.

 

 

 

88. TWO HOUSES                                                                          12/9/15

I’ve built two houses in my life:
one for bitch, and one for wife.
Sometimes, in a rotten switch,
I’m in the dog house, with the bitch.

 

 

 

89. FWP                                                                                             12/10/15

Yes, the Taliban try every year to kill lot of Jews
and Boko Haram jihadists are said to be bad news,
we know Bashar makes offers that the Sunnis can’t refuse…
but let me tell you all about my Nordstrom clerk’s abuse!

Don’t bore me with Somalia, Al-Shabab at the door;

Michoacan drug cartels leave such a grim folklore;
no one cares if Sudanese are targeting the Nuer,
just wait until you hear how Starbucks stiffed me on the pour!

Oh, it’s a crime how difficult it is to get my way

from all these lazy underlings who never earn their pay.
There’s nowhere worse to live than here in de-class San Jose:
the First-World Problems I could tell would turn your hair to grey!

 

 

90. BAD APPLE                                                                               12/11/15

Steve had his knickers in a twist, today
which left me out of sorts, myself.
Just like my son Sam, tonight
fighting with his brother, who
so badly disturbed the peace, that
waves of irritons radiate to me:
reaction at a distance.

 

 

 

91. THERE ISN’T ENOUGH COFFEE                                         12/12/15

There isn’t enough coffee
in all the rainforests of the world
to give me the ambition
I’ll need to go to work.

There’s a crybaby who waits

for me to soothe his ego
and a computer that won’t
process any email.

There’s burnt-out fluorescent lights

and cranky customers
broken machines
unfinished tasks

As though all the forces

of entropy in the universe
have pooled together
in the inbox on my desk.

But I just remembered,

today is doughnut day!
Where’s my car keys?
See you tonight, Dear!

 

 

92.  THE SMARTEST SQUIRREL IN THE WORLD                  12/13/15

Rodent Dangerfield was
The Smartest Squirrel In The World;
his receding hareline gave
the appearance of a rodential Robert Duval,
for his nut was the size of a tangerine—
and the cognitive superiority it bestowed upon him
allowed him to work out the timing
required to cross a street in traffic,
the exact speed required to go safely
between the wheels of a passing car
thereby giving him a substantial edge
over the rest of his species,
and even a leg up against predators,
several carcasses of which
littered the roadsides.

 

Alas, even the smartest squirrel in the world

proved no match for Mrs. Ralston
an eighty-nine year old widow
making a buttermilk run on RD’s street,
for Mrs. R had the maddening tendency
to tap on her brakes
whenever any motion caught her peripheral vision.

 

 

93. THE OPEN HOUSE                                                                  12/14/2015

Every Christmas we hold an open house although we aren’t entire sure why because we aren’t Christians and we couldn’t possibly open the tiny little bungalow to everyone we know even if there’s always some sick or in another state or otherwise unable to come, and even worse those who actually had nothing else to do but still out of inertia never bothered to respond, despite knowing that the preparation for these parties takes days of planning, shopping and preparing, to say nothing of the expense; another dubious point is the awkward groping for the names of some we’ve only seen infrequently and who suddenly appear in the front door; another is worrying that so-and-so won’t have anyone to talk to since the rest of his clique isn’t here yet, and then wondering if one shouldn’t extract oneself from the kitchen pigeon-holed by such-and-such for an unhostly long stretch, and then there is the sadness and relief when the critical guests have come and gone and the party finally winds down, leaving one to an ungodly heap of dishes and clean-up, and next the interrupted restless sleep that never comes if we have eaten and drunk too much, so most inexplicable of all is the inchoate longing for the next 364 days to pass so one can have another go all over again.

 

 

94. NOW THAT THE CHILDREN                                                  12/15/2015

Now that the children are growing up
they’re no longer empty slates.
it used to be that merely
having fun was goal enough--
and learning happened of its own accord.
But now the world isn't quite as magical
and any activity we parents find
that smacks of books or betterment
are out of bounds, they’re “for nerds.”

Now, when their boredom begins

to infect their unformed brains
and the rough-housing begins,
I break them up, and threaten them,
desperate to find them something fun to do
that doesn’t involve staring mindlessly
at some screen.

 

 

 

95. OH, MY RICH NEIGHBOR, FRANK                                      12/16/15

Oh my rich neighbor, Frank,
has a new trophy wife
and good fortune to thank
for his pricey new life

First he tore down his house

and rebuilt it much bigger
to suit his new spouse
(or, that’s what I figure

‘cause she drives a Caddy).

His step-daughters drive Lexes,
and of course, Big Daddy
got a big fast Mercedes

and wall-sized TV--

you can watch it from here,
or from their pool—see?
He’s out now, with a beer

He’s watching some game

as he floats on his floaty
Does he think we’re all lame?
‘Cause he looks a bit gloaty.

But I don’t want your pad,

I don’t lust for your wife.
All the cars just seem sad:
is that it for your life?

 

 

 

96. DADDY'S XMAS LIST                                                              12/17/15

If you have to buy me socks
please get good ones, made for jocks.
Not cheap ones, especially if
they promise minty scratch and sniff.

I'd also like a decent pen;

The one I have just clogged again.
But not some hundred-buck Mont Blanc
like one might give a stuck-up wonk--
just something that won't interrupt
these feeble flashes that erupt

 

97. MOM WAS RIGHT                                                                     12/18/15

 C would have been 55 today

but for an unwillingness to stick it out
and his too-ready divorce
fifteen years ago, from a beautiful dancer
half his age, too flighty and needy,
but it was the honeymoon to Turkey
thout his second wife
after his second precipitate divorce
where he caught the H. Pilori
that doctors said catalyzed
into the stomach cancer.
 

 

98. THE OLD LIBERAL                                                                   12/19/15

At Bill's swingin’ Xmas party
the conversation turned,
as they so often do at swingin’ parties,
to pensions and union reps.

Well, he's a retired teacher

and says he believes in unions,
fairness and diversity,
but you have to wonder
if the liberal stance is just habit

 

When he forwards emails about
useless government workers,
suspicious-looking muslims,
and overreaching feminists.

 

99. OUTING #2                                                                                 12/19/15

Once there was a time
when I'd load three seats into the car
grumbling at the unwieldy plastic
the overreaching nanny state
telling me how to take care of my kids.

Off we'd go, exploring some new park

and gleeful, the boys would spill out
in the parking lot,
run to the play structure
just run in the field
the thrill of the top-speed chase,
of looking for snakes under rocks.

Now, these teenagers have to be

ured out of the house
away from the video games
Grand Theft Auto
which, it may come as no surprise
has no infant car seats.

 

100. WHAT WOULD BILLY SAY                                                  12/21/15

How would Billy Collins start this poem?
He's always got some engaging opening line,
and all I can do is blunder right in
as if I had ten seconds to make my point.
Though all I want to say is, how sad
that what had started out so promising
can go so quickly south.

This morning when the dog and I took off--

her: prancing, eager at the leash,
me: fresh from a long night of sleep
the whole: birds singing, the morning sun shining.

Until I met, in front of my neighbor's house,

a woman whom I took to be her mother,
(although upon reflection maybe she
did not really look all that old)
In any case, she grimaced and said
she was actually the lady's best friend.

Then, to make the faux pas complete

my dog went up to her and
licked up something nasty off their lawn.
So now here we are, walking away,
or limping, rather. Humbled and abashed.
On (what was going to be) our glorious walk.

Poem-a-Day challenge, Day 51-75

51. ARGUING WITH YOUR WIFE                                                11/2/15

First, women have a more fluid and fast-moving
language ability. So you're fighting from a disadvantage.

 Second, women fight dirty, and will burst into tears

or act wounded if you point it out.

Third, there will be repercussions, and it's

a pretty safe bet that you won't like them.

Finally, keep in mind she is the one who bore your children,

launders your underwear, and packs your lunch,

so should things go awry, you may

find yourself on your own in more ways than one.

No matter how close you are to winning,

no matter how clearly justice and righteousness are on your side,

if you waive the white flag first and apologize humbly,

you will only be better off for it.

   

 

52. COUNTING                                                                                11/3/15

We count a lot, we humans:
Coins in a jar,
Rotations of the planet,
Laps in a pool…
Calories!

We count our blessings

Like that will make us
deserve them
And we count out silly
accomplishments

like 50 poems in 50 days,

though 50 is not
any magical number;
it’s just an artifact of
having ten fingers.

Suppose primates had twelve instead:

in base 12, 50 is the new 42,
which is nothing special,
Douglas Adams notwithstanding.

53. POEM IN THE STYLE OF OGDEN NASH                           11/4/15

Kudos to the stately Maple
Whose syrup makes a Canuck's staple.

Let's also sing the once great Elm—

by one Dutch parasite now felln.

Berets off to the Elysean Plane!
Parisians coiffe them like poodles; they’re inseine. 

But best of all are our own giant Sequioas!

All who walk beneath feel euphorious!

  

 

54. POEM IN THE STYLE OF ROBERT W SERVICE              11/5/15

“Beware of Dog!” the back gate warns;
a sporting chance is what it gives
to burglars who choose to spurn
it at their peril! For, who yet lives

to see another sun arise

and won’t pay heed to such a sign?
Our beast will surely rip their eyes
out of their skull! Then skull from spine!

At least that’s what Doberman

who figures in the sign suggests.
But, frankly, some deodorants
are more fearsome than the best

our lab can manage. All she does

when strangers come (to hawk their wares
or by mistake) is rub her fuzz-
-zy ears between their knees. She stares

up at others from her bed—

won’t even bother to get up—
unless they’ll scratch her lazy head.
                  So much for our ferocious pup.

 

 

 

55. POEM IN THE STYLE OF BILLIE COLLINS                        11/6/15
I try to explain to my boy
That not that long ago
no one living here drove cars
And no one wore clothes

But kids these days don't appreciate

The historical context
All he knows is what he sees
in their video games and
no one thinks of living
like a hippie nowadays.

"Nike was the goddess of victory,"

I try again. "And Greek goddesses
didn't wear much either."
But he's a genuine teenager:
there will be no thrift.

And so he stands, hand outheld

for money, keys ready,
for me to drive him to the mall
so I can buy him the Nike warm ups.

 

 

56. POEM IN THE STYLE OF DR. SEUSS                                 11/7/15

In the far distant city of Sock
(Memento: folk there are in hock,
for they’re shod in a sack of men toe
so it's where all our tax dollars go)

lives a family feted in sonnet:

a band of redheads known as Monnot.
They are famous for brains and for guile
and a noble indifference to style

for they mostly wear jeans and a sweater

(or T-shirt, if the weather is better).
They won't wear fedoras or hoodies;
no logos of fasty-food goodies.

Advertising for corporate profits

is not why the Monnots had moppets—
if you go to their house you will see
they're all blissfully franchising free!

 

 

57. POEM IN THE STYLE OF E.E. CUMMINGS                        11/8/15

Oh, the untrue P!
It is with the (
Yes, yes!
            And how we all

O, The entropy!

This 417
          force once heaven
4 which there is no

Owe the entrail pay!
the body ages
The universe expands

Eau the

 Saint Tropez
Thanks I'll have
A double

 

58. POEM IN THE STYLE OF LEAR                                            11/9/15

On the coast of Saffron Cisco
where the foggy hornies blow
In the middle of the Mission lives the oogle google wonky
In a cargo box his room is
With a robot for his broom, his
Life is not a netflick show
For the oogle google wonky in his home in Saffron go

When he sits upon his Lotus

And he ruminates his world
He illuminates a doobie
And it makes him awful woozy
And he races Cousin Susie
In his racing Lotus Pearl.

"Come with me, delicious Susie!
I’ll finagle you a doozy!
You can be my baby floozy
Said the oogle google wonky from his home in Saffron Cisco
Where the foggy hornies blow.
And they got into his Lotus, and then off the two did go!

 

59. POEM IN THE STYLE OF DOROTHY PARKER                 11/10/15

My love, she is a pretty thing,
a dream of girlish charm,
a regular siren when she'd sing
(at least, a car alarm).

She laughs with such a dainty trill,

you'd never think of thunder,
and curses with such modest skill
the devils blush, down under.

She's witty, tasteful, wrinkle-free;

it's like she can't grow older!
(You won't hear otherwise from me
when she reads over my shoulder).

 

 

60. POEM IN THE STYLE OF W H AUDEN                               11/11/15

The universe don't give a damn
if you choose turkey over ham,
if your latte has decaf
or if it's made with half-and-half.
So hurry up and order, Dear.
And, since I can, I'll have a beer.

There are no Gods in heaven above

to watch me or to judge me, love
so why not have a whiskey too?
Barkeep! Break me off some chew!
For, without some god keeping score,
why not do what we adore?

Hey! Why are you getting off your stool

And going?

Augh! I'm such a fool!

You think I'd learn by now to look
before I quote from Nietzsche's book
For now, sure poverty will mark us…

This bar abuts a Nieman Marcus!

 

61. NAMES                                                                                       11/12/15

What face comes to mind
When you hear the name
Jack Wurlitzer?
How about ShaToya Martin?

We think we can guess

something about a person
because of a name--this arbitrary label
that was pasted on them at birth.

And even though we know

more about Miles Davis
or Ben Franklin, we conjure up
an image just as real

as when we shake the hand
Of Jesus Ramirez, or Fred Hinck,
imagining something core to them.

 

62. TERRORISTES                                                                         11/13/15        

Dans un pays de savoir vivre
Le cœur ouvert, l'esprit ivre
De chaleureux accueils

Une pourriture croissante se cache

Parmi des gens qui vite se fâchent
amènant cercueils

Je hais cette blâme sur tous ces gens

Apporté par des croyants
Habillé en deuil.

 

 

63. GAZHAL                                                                                     11/14/15
Après une telle nuit, arrive la lumière
combien éteint dans la ville de lumière?

Pendant que les bourgeois sortent vendredi soir

et commence à allumer les signes de lumière

pendant que les spectateurs criait pour leur équipes

dans le Stade de France, sous les lumières

pendant que des amateurs de rock dansaient

et les musiciens américains jouaient dans les jeux de lumière

des équipes musulmans chargeaient leurs morts

se préparaient aller chercher une lumière

qu'ils croyaient des anges, d'un dieu

meurtrier, né avant l'âge de la lumière. 

 

 

64.  VILLAINELLE                                                                            11/15/15

Today another suicide attack!
And in some distant city, many dead.
The awful group says they will soon be back.

The blast killed some, the rest were killed by flack;

a dozen body bags are oozing red.
Today another suicide attack.

Authorities are trying a new tack:

"We'll send out drones and fill their camps with dread!"
But they claim they will soon enough be back.

They seem to think that our resolve will crack,

every martyr helps them move ahead.
Here's another terrorist attack.

The morning news repeats the same old track:

more stories like the ones that we just read.
Today, another suicide attack!
Then they brag that they will soon be back.

 

 

65.  THE DEBATE RAGES ON                                                     11/16/15

She came in to my office,
A sly grin on her face.
"Have you heard about The Year
of no Summer's Trace?"

I knew why she was asking:

Because of her belief
in the “myth of Global warming!"
so I said, "what relief

You must find it, to be

smarter than the thousand
climatologists
that Paris is now housing!"

 

 

66.  SOUPED UP                                                                             11/17/15

I don’t feel like a meanie

to pass the Lamborghini
or that geezer in his eighties
crawling in his new Mercedes.
Definitely not the Audi
and the gaudy Maserati.
Nor was I that sorry
to pass that parked Ferrari.

For every pricey ride

has just one guy inside,
while, thanks to our car pool,
we pass each lonesome fool,
and we trump their selfish pattern
in my puny beat-up Saturn.

 

  

 

67. POETICS                                                                                    11/18/15

Here, in case you wondered,

is how to write a poem nowadays:
think of something freaky weird,
but only say what it reminds you of.

The meter doesn’t matter any more,

and gone are the times for the poem that rhymes.

All right, then. Something strange.

Well, death is pretty weird.
And what does it remind you of?
Also something bad, right?

Like Taxes. (Oh, that’s right—

it has to be original.)
Instead, let’s choose
something just as nasty.
Like… how about Coca Cola?

 Now you’ve got your poem!

“The terrorist pulled the cord
and the chain-reaction blossomed
Coca Cola filled his lungs
and the lungs of all around him.”

Or, “Crumpling her note,

the cold metal in his hand,
her lover put it to his mouth
and drank a slug of Coke.”

 

 

 

68. ARCHERY                                                                                 11/19/15

“All I want for my birthday,”
he said, “is a bow and arrows.”
But we live in a dense neighborhood
with a postage-stamp yard.

“I don’t want the laser tag set;

the archery club thing sounds dumb.
It’s got to be the bow and arrows,
otherwise, save your money.”

Meanwhile, passers by

get arrows through their ears
and great danes skewered
in my nightmares.

When the day finally arrives,

I plan to give him a bow tie
embroidered with arrows;
and an IOU for five years of therapy.

 

69.  THE CA-CHING PHILOSOPHY                                            11/20/15

When I was much younger

and cared about such things
I found it very helpful
to soften those harsh stings
of my sharp-tongued employer
and the bitterness that brings
by a mental cash register
ringing up "ca-chings!"

My boss would call me stupid

or not catching his mistake,
accuse me of stealing
his misplaced stuff. He’d break
instruments, then blame me.
That’s why I had to take
five minutes to my time card:
an unrepentant fake.

But every time he yelled,

and called me names like “schmuck,”
for not fixing the machine
he let fall off the truck,

the only way to not complain

was charge a ca-ching buck.

 

 

 

 

70. SWIM MEET IN CALIFORNIA                                                 11/21/15

Presentation High School, San Jose

I doubt there's any enclave of privileged white girls

more exclusive than this place--
at least, not here in town.
And their swim meet just for this private club,
only thins the crowd out more.
But Gabe, my child, my newly teen-aged boy
seems unfazed by their expensive clothes
and hundred-thousand dollar cars.

I don't think it occurs to him

most of these kids are millionaires.
That may be why they aren't very friendly
and why, after belonging to this club for 14 months
he still doesn't know a single kid.

If it were either of the other boys, I'd worry--

Sam hates a slight,
keenly feels the malice,
Nathaniel shuts down and won't respond.
But Gabe's genius is how
he lets these things roll off.

 

 

71.  UNSUNG                                                                                   11/22/15

After trying for 25 years,

and only succeeding in three of them,
it is beginning to look like my idea of
what makes a successful poem
is not shared by many other people.

Worst case scenario: I'm lousy

and don't stand much chance of ever making it.
Or, perhaps it is merely that I
have not yet found my niche yet.

 Best case scenario? I am

another Dickinson, fated to languish
unknown and ahead of my time
until future generations catch up to me.

In the interest of protecting my own ego,

I choose to cling to this. Because:
aren't we all burdened with the secret
knowledge of our own genius,
stymied in our own time?

 

  

72. LIFE, EXPLAINED                                                                    11/23/15

Life is a maple pecan pie
that you don't get to eat:
It goes to some guy named Barry
who copied Downton Abbey to a flash drive
(which, incidentally your wife
borrowed from you,
for all the good that does you).

Sure, she’ll let you watch it with her,

but Downton Abbey's not the same as pie.

 

 

73. BECAUSE SQUAWK WAS GOING DEAF                           11/24/15

A Nonsensical Dream
Because Squawk was going deaf
in the upper register
the only targets he could make
were made of plywood
with jelly on top

That left the Genie

Unable to jelly roll with the punches,
Bonding Water, grinding Twine,
At the caterwauling River
that All the Brain could not fix.

 

 

74. SOME DAYS YOU'RE THE WINDSHIELD, SOME DAYS THE BUG  11/25/15

A “found poem” composed by the iPhone autosuggestion feature

CENTER

The fact I can get it right away
with the new version
is better to be the first half of the year
and I don't think that I have a great way
of the year
and I don't think that I have a great way
of the day
before I get a follow back
on my way home from work
to be the first half of the day
before I get a follow back
on my way home.

RIGHT

I'm at a time when you are
not in my room
for a long way
in which a great way to go out
with my family and friends of
friends
with a lot to be in my head
hurts so bad I don't
have the right way
and it will take the bus driver
just got to go out with
my family and friends.

LEFT

I love you so much
fun
and I have a great way
to get a follow from you would be a good day
to be a good day for me
to be a good day
to be a good time
to get a follow from you
would be a good day.

 

75. VOICES                                                                                      11/26/15

It really is true, isn't it,

that we all have those

contradictory voices

nattering in our heads?

And for every voice of

confidence and hubris

is a defeatist one—

a critical one— 

telling us we’re not that special,

that what we are thinking isn’t

any more clever than

the words of a bum

mumbling on the sidewalk,

asking for loose change…
and maybe also for
some positive feeling?