Monday at work
I go to break
Behind the building
Away from everybody
Smoking a cigarette
Sitting on old railroad ties
The ugly green building
Is close enough
I could throw rocks at it
And never miss
The concrete silo
Stands silent gray
The weekend snow
All around me
Feel I am in the Arctic Circle
Thousands of miles away
So alone
Like the silo
Concrete gray
She goes on in my mind
Like the train tracks behind me
I lose productivity on the train,
Just as the train loses its own speed
To stop for station after station,
I always turn the window into a screen,
Watching the show of cities,
Towns, and broken homes going by
Instead of concentrating on poems
I promised I would write
So I could claim a trip was productive
No, the better comparison is you
Losing your time to create
From the peer to peer pressure of TV
Emptying your queues of episodes
Until whole seasons are done,
A binge which brings a full stop
To your plans and the flow established
By your previous good works,
Your intention unable to save you now
More at http://mirrorsponge.blogspot.com/.
Balance is a lie
the design of our brain
and designation of our muscles
are about deviation and motion
try drain an incessant abscess
stubborn enough to tread its time
yet pamper it with warmth
and it submits to the cajoling
balance is about the weight
in the elements of your valence
labor into your leisure
worship with persistence each day
sing to your work and your play
let the hustle bring you its pleasure
balance supposes there is an all
but winter always follows fall
wear the badge of work and life on your sleeve
trust that light will reflect the variations in your weave
Let me be
persisting into each day
let me do what I do
going the extra mile
intent being my companion
nurtured adequacy is what I create
playing life so there is no stalemate
Let me do what I do
boot the balance
there is much more at stake
let me do what I do
live my daily grind
let my work and my worship
whisk me through a rhythm
do not beckon me with blue sky wishes
do not teach me balance
and lead me astray
More at https://kashiana.wordpress.com.
She stands over me in bronze,
the curves solid and cool to the touch,
I hold them for a while
and her medium changes
to marble, and then it softens to wood,
before settling down into brick
until her body is a kiln,
what will she mold out of me
using the fire inside of her?
She bends over, grabs my chest,
kisses my neck and moves her fingers
along my stomach and shoulders.
I can feel my wires turn
into arteries and veins,
my iron plates turn into skin and bones,
then my hair,
(my one former human feature),
spin itself into a tapestry
she can run her hands through all morning.
More at http://mirrorsponge.blogspot.com/.
Crumpling and eddying ripples
circle this September
as we venture on at tasks
as replicas of our same selves
and our yearly releases, now glossed
with fluid corrections and pencilled
in changes and diary noted targets.
and the wear of these at us, eroding
us with mantras of better, bigger, brighter
tomorrows sit hollowly
on desks everywhere.
what’s going to happen
tomorrow at work
what will people
think about my project
does anybody care
am i just someone
walking through
an apparition no one
sees and thus cannot
care about
do i matter in any way
will i fail miserably
will i be able to
make it through the day