Junky Little Notes

Photo by brotiN biswaS on Pexels.com

Junky little notes
Throwaway lines on the postmodern stage
Cultural fragmentation in empty streets
Truth whittled away on an evaporating page


The disillusionment of an appropriated life
While the world’s on fire; downright ablaze
The American Dream sold off to the lowest bidder
Feeling dissociative in these recent raucous days


Our dishonest & unaccountable government
Are trying to sell you their uninspired vision
Trying to sway your vote by gripping your throat
But their cockamamy pleas will be met with only derision

The Drippings Of My Mind

Photo by Tara Winstead on Pexels.com

The drippings of my mind
The office, a soul in paper mâché
Books & notes of imagination
A collection of stories we played

It’s a subtle knowledge herein
Years of experience slightly compressed
Nicks, faults & scars smoothed over
Though I remain unimpressed

Scratching away at this drivel
Nothing created in which to be content
Scrambling for fresh ideas
At this pace, I’ll never relent

Suburban Arcades & Record Stores

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Suburban arcades & record stores
Love notes left jammed in the teletype
Ancient technologies lost to whims of time
Sacrilege of consuming before it’s ripe

Littered by dreams of public-school poets
Falling to the feminine side of healing
Whose obedience to authority lingers
But only the lonely are rhymin’ & stealin’

Our literary antihero catching the cliff notes
A repressed childhood is still better by half
Trying to make up for that deleted time
But you can’t get far by writing on decaf

Standing with arms braced to the wind
Needing antiquity to know how we perform
Rolling empty dice against our loaded fates
Summer on the coast ensures the storm

The Voices Come Calling

The voices come calling

Like shattered visitors in the night

Darkness expunged within thought

Auditioning words; trying to get it right

Vapid orations coming from the podium

Stacks of the wrong books & loose leaf notes

The dumbing down makes a tedious existence

But ideas are the traditional spark of an antidote

Evading Their Ongoing Tragedies

Photo by Laura Stanley on Pexels.com

Evading their ongoing tragedies
Forty summers spent down in the dirt
Withstanding the weight of apocalypse
Emerging; though slightly less overt
Blast furnace of the afternoon sun
Dali walking barefoot on Tampa’s shores
Pale riders within unabsorbed light
Embracing purity through perception’s doors
The paint of our secret love notes
But can only be read through the keyhole
Shying away from all public renditions
Her passionate words left imprinted on my soul

I’ll Send You Love Notes

cell-phone-791365

I’ll send you love notes throughout the day

Explaining how much you mean to me

Instructions for the coming nightfall

Details & negotiations for once you’re free

We need to get rid of all the day’s stress

Let us forget about tomorrow’s obligations

I’ll start by removing my clothes first

It’ll be a beginning to your eventual inspiration

Standing Wobbly-Legged

Standing wobbly-legged

Spread stance, with a mock salute

Whispering; describing her desires

Soon, I hope she won’t be so mute

Passion of an fantastical nature

Possibly seeming like it’s unreal

Motioning me to come forth 

Promises of a love I can feel

Building to a palpable potency 

A tangible form of bemused intrigue

Charmed to dizzying arousal 

Winding to a whirlwind fatigue 

With which note to thoroughly enchant 

Steps so sure that time cannot lapse

A smirk; mouthing words to erupt 

But knowing I’ll finally leave her unclasped

It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn

It was a one-eyed kind of morn

With evening’s festivities going awry

I scrawled out all I could remember

Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy

Slight images of a lovely form

Olfactory sparks upon my brain

Sketching the party’s guest list

But no new faces could remain

Racking my skull for a proper memory

Writing down every & each detail

Compiling a list to rediscover

I’m trying to think, but it’s to no avail

A faceless gown with affectionate gloves

Somehow my mind is able to recall

Cognitive fragments begin to linger

Clouded out by last night’s alcohol

Scenes slowly begin to return

I believe we were out on the dance floor

An embrace of smoldering desire

Yet I couldn’t figure out any more

Scraps of notes spread before me

No identity to place upon the truth

Scant reason to be shy in my search

Basking in honesty of my lapsed youth

Cobwebs have been sparsely lifted

Won’t think of her in the passed tense

Her ghostly touch encourages me yet

We shall meet again, I firmly sense

To hold her with determined spirit

Seems fantastical at this sad rate

Yet she’s left fingerprints upon me

Remaining until I succumb to my fate