I wonder if I could
Persuade my wife to let me be

A poet

I’d work my shift each day;
A strait eight
Two tens and a half.

No outward sign of effort
Would convince her it’s work.
No toil beyond the finger-to-chin pensive stare
And random, intermittent bursts of typing.

Meetings scheduled
With myself,
For dreaming of similes and metaphors;
Teetering dangerously on the edge
Of creating hyperboles.

Oh the thrill!

At the end of a long day
Our dinner conversation could be;
“Do you think you’ll get that promotion dear?”
To which I would optimistically reply;
“Not yet. But, I’ve got my fingers crossed.
I learned today I can apply
For a copyright online.
It's only 35 dollars.
My stuff would be
In the Library of Congress!”

I’d chase some peas across my plate
Until I gathered enough for a bite then ask
“Do you have 35 bucks I could borrow…”
...just until I get paid?”

Yesterday and tomorrow will prove it’s best
To think only about today.
Cuffs and collars become 80grit.
Everything strapped to your back
Is made of brick.
Corners, windows, and everything
Hold your next burden of terror
Or sin.

Mom and dad hid the scissors and silverware
After you tried to explain to them that cordite smelled like sulfur
And brimstone.
Your demons are hip high with wet eyes
And a thousand years away
From a thousand and twelve years of age.

The neighbor’s help is a look of pity and a dollar
Donated for a paper ribbon on the wall at Petco,
Upon which they wrote their own name.

Your help is in pints, fifths
And near misses,
Or that fucker at the VA.
He doesn’t care or doesn’t believe
But he most certainly doesn’t help.

Regardless and right now,
You need to focus on how
To convince the hiring manager
That those things which make you vomit
Whenever they enter your thoughts
Taught you great customer service skills
And more
Than how to avoid getting shot.

What a curious choice
This man has made
When so many appropriate options
Exist in its stead

Armed with a delicate silver spade
Fitted with dainty barbs
He plunges forth
Again, and again, and again

Even without sweet comfort
He forges ahead

Against the sour and bitter

Looks from others
Furrowed brows and scowls
Lodged against the decision
To eat grapefruit on the bus

I’ve done it again.
I forgot to bring a fucking pad and pen.

Now I am trapped
Bursting inside
With fantastic shit to write.

Lyrical eloquence of copious quantities
A torrential flow of piquant melodies

Encumbered by my knowledge
Of self- limitation,
I curse inspiration.
Because by the time I arrive
At my escritorial haven and sit,
I will be a halcyon glacier
Of meter, foot, and wit.

Bruno makes my head wobbly

I get caught up
Sometimes
Thinking about the fact
That space is infinite.
I send my self hurdling out there
Past super novas, star dust, galaxies and moons,
Struggling to conceive what that edge may be if I found one.
And become overwhelmed
And scared
And small
And wonder, who needs that much room?

I am comforted and comfortable
With my 8 and half by eleven tract of land.
More than enough space to contain my self
And my thoughts.