superluminous velocity

O overused and underappreciated cash cow

in a glass half full of 800 pound gorillas;

O picture worth a thousand words. 

Why reinvent the wheel?

As American as an apple pie

that didn’t fall far from the tree

you’re barking up. 

I’m firing on all cylinders

with

and a duck out of water

without.

You cut to the chase without

beating around the bush

when it’s the same old story

of monkey see, monkey do. 

O tools of the trade,

that are the wind beneath my wings of wax

as I ride off into the sunset on a dead horse,

uphill

both ways

in the snow.

Two men and a food cart as I walk by

haggling over what language to speak

hotdog flailing punctuatedly in black knuckle fingers and I’m passed it

scent down from the heavens –no it’s that pizza place

almost run me over

twice

It’s the answers not the questions

that drive this bus around

and shout back to sit down and shut up

don’t argue

and I’m past it

A buy and a sell and a few more hours of hell.

My toss is a pitch, a heater, a curveball, or maybe a switch. 

The scent of cut grass is like a drug in my nose, better than any rose, any prose, any chemical dose. 

But oh, to be a player, to meet ball with bat and be its slayer.  Every day of my life, this is my silent prayer.    

Running the base, grand slamming the game in the face of those who would keep me in place.

I may work for peanuts but that’s only my bread, it’s something to do to keep hungry mouths fed, every day of my life, ever day till I’m dead. 

Maybe I’ll play ball in heaven’s arena, after God sends me that final subpoena.

Finite minds mind infinites.

Betwixt.  Betwixt two slenders the icy steel of a knife eye ran.

A scene rendered callipered.  So like a battery of cameras trained on the moon. 

Not this one. This one, not. 

Twisted.   Twisted across time and space and time and time again it’s the same. 

Why Live love lie die? Why? Oh. You. Are

Looking for what again?

Screaming.  Screaming bloody murder into the filthydirty day speeds sunlight daylight un-night.

A sham is what I call balance.  Where detergent is a duck’s nemesis.

A dollar sign called black gold baby.  From the ground she sprung, slickly singing. 

Finite minds mind infinites.

Over what are the geese political,

Their hairy religions meeting the omnipresent dragons,

What soaked, knee-hosed, many scored minotaur,

Could summon the meaning of music at last dilemmas end.

Epic lyrics hold the teller’s bread,

And god sends an ornery lilly,

That caterpillar, that pyrokinetic flag slugfest,

To best airbrush opposition.

To airbrush tragedy at best, and float that kind Sigmund,

 What a man accident. 

Oblique music licks convulsive music,

For ale kings, hobbling jaguars, and ingot hobbyist,

Shiver wherefore,

Have a brisk pass at scintillating retro.

Yeah, visual rocks,

Gutting watermelons, jaded and hinted,

Of jogging and soccer and a perfect clot forming,

Is it tragic that no listener gave ingots the constant air?

What soaker broker dug up that philosophy?

What are the wisecracker divots?

I’m browsing the tubes,

keeping myself occupied,

Class is so boring.

Men tread upon the paths of life,
in forests of poverty, hate, and strife.
Among those men was one of few,
whose smile brought joy to me and you.
He offered friendship to all who’d take it,
were you in a bind he’d help you break it.
Now that he’s gone he’s left a hole,
where no other d-twenty could ever roll.