Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Muffin, My Cross to Bear

The last muffin,
one of those day-old types,
two days old by now.

Half-mawed, decrepit muffin,
weathered from the journey
home.

I do not know your flavor muffin;
all the other ones were red.

I just know of the colored
white speckles of sugar
on your head
and chunks of something
floating through your insides.

I know of the crispy rim,
broken, disheveled, and crusty.

I don't know how you survived
the car ride, but muffin you're my
cross to bear.

Oh cruel misfortune,
thy name
is muffin, thy
pastry rich center
be thy sword
with which thou' wouldst
rend me in twain
were I not to shove
thee twixt my teeth.

Turns out:
pineapple up-side-down
muffin.

Not bad.
\

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Carousel of Glass

Sometimes when I'm working,
loading endless tiny bottles on to
a carousel of glass,
I imagine I'm no place
near where I currently am.

Some place far away,
not anywhere special,
just somewhere else

like in a library bathroom,
or in my parent's backyard,
or in a tourist info-center on the highway.

I'm just sitting there with a
cup of coffee, that dispensed itself
out of a machine, and I'm not doing
anything.

I'm just relaxing
at a highway pit-stop
and it's overcast,
and I'm drinking coffee.

The birds are chirping,
the temperature is a mild fifty degrees,
and a man is changing his tire
with his family watching
from a safe distance.

The man is sweating,
to the point that it is
soaking through his shirt.

His son is sipping a cold beverage,
and his wife is cooling herself with
a battery powered fan.

His daughter is laying on the hood of the car,
when all of a sudden,
I explode.

Monday, June 24, 2013

Beard Growing

I'm trying to grow a beard,
and on the one hand my mother
hates it, but on the other hand
everybody else only has good things
to say.

Specifically, it's been said that
I look like a less-handsome
David Beckham when I have a beard,
and that's great!
Who knew it was all in the beard?

It just takes that leap to make it happen too,
that determination, that one day when you drop
the razor and say, not this time.
This time I'm going to bring the ruckus.

It's not easy either, by any stretch.
You have to willingly let your face
become entangled and enveloped,
and those aren't fun words.

I can't say any victim of an entanglement
is happy, but you have to suffer to achieve
this rugged woodsman look.

A man becomes scared to grow a beard
until it happens, but
I'm not scared anymore.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Explaining "The Band"

Oh my goodness,
what was that?

That, my friend,
was A Noxious Burst.

A Noxious Burst?
What's that?
Are we okay?
Are we going to die?

No, I'm afraid not.

Then what, what do
we do?

Well, it's like I said,
what you just heard was
A Noxious Burst.

A Noxious Burst?

Yes, A Noxious Burst.

Some say it closely resembles
a slimy explosion
of noise;
some sludgy experiment of
indie-phonics and grime.

Will I be okay though?
I feel loose.
Mostly
in my bowels
and nose area.

You might have cancer,
you might have a gangrenous limb
but, again, I'm not sure
if that's necessarily
because of what you heard.

You made some bad life choices...

Then what should I do?

What should you do?

Yeah, should I leave?
Find help?
Apply a band-aid?

No, just buy tickets.

Tickets?

Yeah!
Our first show's next week,
and you clearly enjoyed
what you heard.


Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Being Vigorous

Whenever I'd come home from school, 
fourth-graded and shy,
chubby and disheartened,
walking slowly to my bedroom.

My dad would always say, 
"Son, you need some vigor!"
"Get on a bike! Move around!"
And when that didn't work,
he'd say,
"I'll bribe you."

So growing up, I learned to hate
being vigorous. 

I'd slop around the house with the consistency
of soup.

I'd gloop to the bus stop in the morning
like sludge on the bottom of trash.

I'd stoop around town in my mothers
mini-van, demanding she take me 
to some trading card game tournament 
or to some dumpster
full of pizza.

I'd do anything I could to be 
ludicrously lazy, but I like the way
I turned out.

I just hope any potential
children I may father feel
the same way.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Making The Most Of My Lentils

When someone hands you a pile
of beans, you have to make the
most of your lentils.

You have to say,
"Hey, these are some nice legumes, I could use some more of these."

And then you have to take them.
Take the starch, the amino acids,
the vitamins. All of it.

You have to make them a supplement for yourself,
your life, your own fibers.

You have to hand pick 'em,
so you can take them one by one
and insert them into your face.

One day, awhile back, somebody handed me a whole satchel
of navy beans and I thought,
"Well, these are probably my least favorite beans.
They're not as steadfast as a kidney, not as cute as a
pinto, or a mung or a
cowpea."

I said, "Why don't you give these beans to
somebody else?"

"Someone different should have these beans!"
"Someone more deserving, with a palate
suited towards them! I don't want these beans!"

Now, all I do, is think about
what I missed that day.




Saturday, June 1, 2013

90's Boy

If I were a super hero,
who would I be?
Well, I'd be 90's Boy of course!
I mean, who doesn't love the 90's?

90's Boy would be
the ultimate dispenser of justice,
I'd be like the Pez Dispenser of justice,
complete with:
"Ultra-Stomping High Tops,"
 a "Super-Faded Flat Top,"
some "Mega-Turbo Karate Chops,"
and maybe some
"Ordinary-Humble Flip Flops?"
I don't know, I'm might reconsider that last one.

Nevertheless,
90's Boy would be near unstoppable.

What powers would I possess?
Only the sheer ferocity of the 90's!

What's more the powerful than the ability
to live a politically incorrect life,
and one rich with
advertisement jingles
and Arnold Schwarzenegger
Christmas movies.

I'd be nigh-invincible
without the fear of
kidnappings, terrorists, carcinogens
and my enemies would tremble in fear
of my plaid vision.

Yes, 90's Boy would be quite
the omnipotent being but he wouldn't
be devoid of a fatal flaw.

No no, even the legendary Slug Woman had a
weakness and 90's Boy would be no different.

The stake to my heart wouldn't be
a high sodium diet though, it would simply
be the passage of time.