Why being the creative type sucks, an ironical freeform pwm.

Question to ask somebody:

When you think, do you do as I do

and sing the words a little bit

to a tune you do not know,

nor to which you might not see

the next bars of on the score?

Do you like me swing low

over the phrases of this poem,

thrashing, gesticulating explosively? Continue reading “Why being the creative type sucks, an ironical freeform pwm.”

Bid-Ask Arbitrage

Bid: Coffee

Offer: Silence

Bid: Coffee

Offer: Silence

Lunch? No reply.

Appealing counteroffer: Park?

Ah, I see the game you’re playing.

Reciprocal response: cautious entreaty.

Drank the Kool Aid, too sour. Acidic.

Vision explodes beyond the mechanics,

The gears of our tacit negotiation.

Phantasms convoluting in a sea of trichroic something.

I continue, convalescing, regrouping into myself.

You’re still away in dream world, dancing impossibly.

Goading tease, you. No ruth of which to speak.

You, a water sculptor when you know my velocity.

 

Elegy for Resident Alien

Grey wad of disjointed something

Barreling toward my face.

Driving on 55 at near seventy.

At point of contact

A sickening Thwap.

Not enough mass for a Thump,

Though the volume of orange pulp

Which issued from your mouth

At point of contact

Indicated otherwise. Perhaps.

I’m sorry, little starling,

For what I did to you.

You are nonnative to these parts.

We didn’t know each other anyway.

I’ll wash my car and move on.

 

The Echo Chamber

Inside the echo chamber.

Shouting match with the walls.

Friends, a blithe coterie

singing merrily inward.

To and from each other.

To no other but themselves.

 

Go forth they say:

Collaborate. Create. Succeed.

Make Possible. Live Expansively.

Fund and Incorporate. Drive and

Innovate. Rise above.

Embrace uncertainty.

Seize. Attack ferociously.

Make it bleed. Sustain. Run lean.

Continue reading “The Echo Chamber”