so why not,
give it all you’ve got
instead of lurking in
those panther-like shadows
waiting for the world to knock at your door
so i hope it works out for you
the job, the self-esteem
the life as it arises –
i really wish it all works out for the best
naive sort of hopes
on a twisted con alert Valentine
she says there’s no God to believe in
her baby – how does she fare?
how do we survive in this realm
of thin and stress-ridden?
leg thumping to an untimely beat
may tomorrow come sooner
may Dawn not withhold her fingertips stretching
open the blinds to another
if tomorrow’s good morning,
could the evening glean a little darkness as well?
whether it’s the light sheen of frothy buildup
edges of pots and pans at the rim
with muddy-clear water static, waiting
all of life poised precariously
that smudged butter knife which told of
tales that jam and peanut butter had it out
balanced, heavyset see-saw does the Fates
organize our thoughts
or instead shall they skitter off
to think, which is worse
ending lines with prepositions
or the crusty muck, fossilized
oatmeal remnants of a giant
who liked maple syrup?
soap itself cannot wash
these idle thoughts away
only the thought of deadlines
haphazardly making them straight.