Does It Gotta Get Worse?
In my City there's a crack park!
Where all the little crack heads can go to play!
You can go past the park if you wanna!
And watch them!
Behind a chain link fence.
Just like at the zoo!
"You wanna play Baby!" they'll ask you.
"Com'mon Baby!" they'll say "With this you'll really live!"
If you're on the Road to
Intentions that means
Put and Put upon
Disdain all leisure
Compress everything into
I n c r e m e n t s
Squeeze and flatten out all details
Add constant worry
Don't forget anything!
Keep everything listed
Iron down every contingency
Love on the Beach
Underneath a fabulous science museum that sits on pylons jutting out over The Creek
I am told that sometimes people will bring mattresses
So they can lay down n comfort
After they use a needle to press a different reality into themselves
Can't escape your fate
Can only bend for a while
Underneath the pylons jutting out over The Creek
I am told that sometimes the people who bring mattresses
Or just as likely don't care that there are tides that go out and come in
That the moon passes over
That all things have a beginning and an end
Underneath the life-size display of nova brilliance
I am told that sometimes these people with another reality flowing through their veins
Go out with the tide [float-some & jet-some] flotsam and jetsam
Forever hooked into time flowing nowhere
Lost and a waste
No chance with the moon simply damned
Underneath the concrete jetty supporting monied visions of an unattainable future
I am told that the [float-some & jet-some] flotsam and jetsam of society actually seek obliteration
Lying on a dirty mattress floating under a display of the opposite end of the food chain
They die in ethereal visions seeking simple release
Giving up before it's too late, specious logic
Accepting crushing defeat
Some Things are Easy to Predict
She ran into an Existentialist on the street the other day.
He was alternately and coincidentally begging and pontificating.
She was on an errand.
She listened politely until it was
And then said, "What I want is irrelevant."
The Existentialist tried not to smile
Wiped his face and shook his finger
A Master's shake
And replied, "Who am I to tell you what to do,
I am merely a window shopper
On the desires of life."
"Birds are existentialists too!" she piped up pointing to a mailbox.
On the mailbox was a Crow
The Crow was bird eyeing the two of them
She and the Existentialist
The Existentialist turned and watched the Crow
For a moment
And the Crow continued to bird eye the Existentialist and She
Then they parted.
Stood screaming on the line
Begging the people around
"Don't let me
Slip through the cracks!"
Watching them wave
Closer to Heaven
She passed them crossing the street
Both very tall and slim
Wearing lots of money
She was looking down
Saw the woman's shoes and looked up
Curious at the space time contortion
Such a poor disguise
The woman clutched out for the arm of the man
Spoke a few words
The man jerked her hand off
Flashed his eyes to Her and then he bent to the woman
The man spoke harsh words
The woman snapped to attention
Switched her eyes front ahead
And then they were past
When She reached the curb She turned to look at them
As they continued across the street
Until they too reached the curb
Until they passed beyond, into reasonable safety
She looked at her shoes then and for a lightning's crack moment felt
Shabby, dark, short, and wrong
She looked again at the couple and then turned quickly and walked just
As she saw the man's head begin to turn
Back to Her
They'd both glanced back when they'd first reached the curb
First the man
Then the woman
Heads twisting to focus in on her
Amongst the crowd
Curt words were spoken again by the man
Not accepted this time by the woman
The woman shook her head
Threw a torrent of words at the man
The man reached for the woman's arm
Jerking her away
She kept walking rapidly
Until She reached the next corner
Checking behind Her from time to time