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There
is a
brief
window
as a kid
where
they
don’t know
about
overtime
morning commute
time and a half
cut hours
nor should they,
because
they’re kids,
kids who need to let the adults speak
you tell them all the time
so
when
the kid’s
all grown up
and wants nothing to do with you
don’t forget
all
those
times
the kid
just wanted to play.
Life is short.
So don’t question
the chance to
laugh.
Let it rip!
Good men
Are broken
By broken women
Born of broken mothers
By broken fathers
Who’ve broken
Good women
Some of us
have it
and some
of us just don’t.
The ability
to do
what needs to be
done
all the while
suffering
for a possible
weekend of fun
or a cookie cutter
vacation,
one
that everyone’s been on.
Some of us
have it,
while others
must go out with a bang.
The more my browser
tells me it’s out of date
the more, out of date
I feel. Perhaps
it’s time for an update.
Perhaps, it’s time for a meal.
I
believed
in
myself
once.
A
long
time
ago.
Perhaps
too
much.
Perhaps
not
enough.
Like
I
believed
in
you.
A
long
time
ago.
Perhaps
too
little.
Perhaps
too
much.
While
your
many
faces
spoke.
Such
awful
beauty
spewed.
All
that
time.
I
heard
nothing.
Believe
it
or
not,
I
really
believed
in
everyone.
Spitting
tea
leaves.
Before
Long
Island.
I had this friend
who did nothing all day long
and this other friend
who never stopped moving.
So all day long
I sat and wondered about these two,
like wings of a dragonfly
my mind raced back and forth
up and down
turning them over like a pair of Jokers,
all day long,
sometimes, all night even.
Pacing back and forth
I never stopped moving
contemplating everything
which turned into nothing.
It’s
too
early
to
be
tired
and
I’m
tired
again.
Not
the
I’ve
been
on
my
feet
all
day
tired.
No.
It’s
that
special
kind
of
tired
we
don’t
dare
speak.
It’s
the
reason
we
stand
all
day
on
our
feet.
Yes.
It’s
that
special
kind
of
truth
we
work
so
hard
to
forget.
Until
we
remember,
no
longer
able
to
sleep.
I get stomach aches all the time now.
Why now, brown cow?
Reading the Bollard
Ads filled with typo’s
Who writes these things anyhow?
Not I
Not now.
You know, brown cow.
Even I, get stomach aches all the time now.
With
an
ear
to
the
ground
these
words
seem
futile,
consciousness
bludgeoned
by
the
American’s
perversion
of
freedom.
Words Of An Average White Male 