This Way to the Moon Egress

Let’s put the idiots on the moon.

We’ll do it like P. T. Barnum did it

and his, “This Way to the Great

Egress” exhibit.

The Egress of course, was

the exit. People foolish

enough not to know what

the egress was, found themselves

back out on the street. Bewildered.

So we’ll come up with something like,

“This way to the endless orgasm

machine!”, or “This way to the free

money and guns pavilion!”

And the idiots will walk down that

corridor, find themselves on a

one way space ship to the moon.

Once filled to capacity, “Whoosh!”

To the Moon, Alice.

I wonder if you could see all the

corpses of the idiots all over

the surface of the Moon from Earth?

Dotting the Sea of Tranquility with

their “I’m with Stupid” tee-shirts and

“Make America great Again”, trucker caps.

Hmm, maybe that’s not such a hot

idea. I’d hate to ruin the Moon the way

we’ve ruined the Earth with gaggles of

knuckle dragging idiots littering the

the landscape.

I guess we’ll just have to educate them

and make them productive members of

society. Damn it.  No. No, I was right,

to the Moon they should go.  The Dark Side.

Music Interrupted Me

Hey, remember me?

The one with all the wordy words,

that fella, the self proclaimed poet,

who had the audacity to remind you

of your humanity.

Well here I am.

I know I’ve been away.

I’m sorry it’s been so long.

But the wordy word business

is tough and sometimes silence

is all there is.

So now I’m back, to let you know,

I can really shake ‘em down.

Do you love me?

(Do you love me?)

Now that I, can dance?

Watch me now…

Work

work…

Oh, sorry. I might be a little

distracted.

A little busy with life and its

incessant need to be cultivated,

trimmed, re-potted, and otherwise

watered.

So I hope I can get back to the

wordy word business in earnest,

when time stops insisting I do other

things, like make money to live and

such. Bah!

In the meantime, don’t you forget

about me, no, no, no, no…

As you walk on by…

La, la, la, la, ah, la-la-la, lah-la, la…

Interior Monologue

Individual irritations I attempt

to ignore as irrational and

inappropriate.  Albeit, they

insist.

Incongruous and inconsistent,

annoying ideas infiltrate and

inflame my innards,

insulting any intelligence.

I am intrepid in my instability

and irrationality, self-imposed

isolationism and icy iconoclastic

immobility.

I am alone in an inner influence,

incapable of inviting another in to

investigate the interior issues I

invest.

It is irritating and infuriating to

idle in insecurity and injury, yet

adept in interpreting it as

idiocy, immaturity, and ineffectiveness.

Incorrectly I inscribe immediacy to

my irritations and they become incendiary,

igniting an influx of indulgent anxious

insecurities.

Inside, I ingest an inexorable amount of

irritation, imbued with inexhaustible

improprieties; and yet, I imbibe it all,

inherently aware of its impermanency.

Impossible inconsistencies in identity,

I laugh in spite of myself, involved in

the idiosyncrasies of an inner-monologue.

I am interestingly amused, and by my intonation,

less influenced by irritation.  

Little Baby New Years

Little Baby New Year,

all swaddled and clean,

sucking on their little thumb,

sleeping gently, even sweetly.

Little Baby New Year,

a serene scene of freshness,

in the maternity ward of

time.

Only five days old and

already the world is coming

for you, to mangle and cheapen

your gentle sleep.

Little Baby New Year,

behind a sheet of glass,

keeping warm and dry,

in temporary peace.

Here comes a nurse for

the evening feeding.

What’s she feeding that kid?

Is that milk?

Doesn’t look like milk,

looks like lava and bilge water

mixed with dirty tea leaves and

morphine.

Little Baby New Year,

starting to resist the bottle,

pushing back a little, but

too weak to really fight.

Little Baby New Year,

too early on the bottle,

never should have left

mom’s teat. 

The Most Human of Years

2017 is wrapping up shortly

and I think it’s appropriate to

recognize it for what it truly was;

The Most Human of Years.

I believe 2017 was the most human

of years simply because it reflected

what is the most common and universal

trait of all humans, our capacity to

err.

2017 was filled with so many

Oops-a-daisies and whoops-a-doodles,

it’s amazing we made it to the end.

From baffling election results to even

more baffling election results; our all too

human flaws were showing.

I feel 2017 was a raw nerve, finally exposed,

and we were doing everything we could

to keep people from poking at it. Sometimes,

we didn’t do it right and wound up just making

a grand mess of things. Or just lied about it.  

2017 was filled with backtracking, corrections,

re-evaluations, tactical reversals, contrarian

explanations, and general outrages over the lack

of outrage.  The human year, was a jumble of

emotions and thoughts, all running around

like kids at recess, screaming and shouting.

If 2017 were to have an image to represent

it, I would have to choose a giant finger pointing

at, “the other guy”.  It would seem the most reasonable

since we attempted to deflect any mistakes onto,

“the other guy”, for the majority of the year.

It is my hope that 2018 is The Year We Learn

From Our Mistakes. I know that the pessimism of

2017 will mark the first part of 2018, as the old year

can leave quite a bruise. Yet I remain hopeful in the face

of our collective humanity that we’ll do better, be better,

and rise above our common frailties.

Here’s to a New Year and the human capacity

to find hope in the darkest of places, valor against

the most difficult challenges and recognize the

humanity in our humanness.

Dear Mr. Christmas

Dear Mr. Christmas,

I hope all is well with you and

your kind and

things are swell and

not heavy on your mind.

Things over here aren’t so great,

I don’t want to be a nag

or berate.

But we’re in a pickle and everything

is a drag.

I write to you once more,

to remind you of what you said before,

when the kids were sad and you were

late, those words you spoke to make

us elate.

You said, “Quit your bitching and

shut up! I’m doing my best here so lay

off. I’m just one guy, doing what I can.

I’m not sure why I give a damn.”

Is what you said.

Mr. Christmas, you’re the best.

Saying what we can’t.

Puffing up your chest.

Fighting like a fire ant.

Mr. Christmas, you’re so cool.

What would Jesus do?

Walking on water when it freezes?

Mr. Christmas does it too,

he calls it ice skating and

does it when he pleases.

But Mr. Christmas, all that you know,

I’m just here to remind you of the season,

and to ask of you, before you show,

to look beyond our heart’s treason,

and help us if you can.

Here’s a list we made,

we hope it helps you out,

because off the path we strayed,

and with all your clout,

we hope you can make our dream true:

To make the Holiday bright,

treat each other right,

put our dicks away,

fight for equal pay,

Stop our warring ways,

end persecuting gays,

save the poor,

show the fats cats the door,

from pollution you can save,

keep us from the grave.

Mr. Christmas, can’t you see,

how much we need your seasoned

company.

Mr. Christmas don’t delay,

you’ve only got a couple days.

Christmalcoholic

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

Let’s put those snowballs back

in the freezer shall we.

No one wants to see them right

now.

It’s Christmas time and that means

we need to keep an eye on Santa to

make sure he doesn’t act inappropriately

while asking children to sit on his lap.

This is a horrifying concept to me.

Santa Claus, the iconic symbol of

Coca-Cola, can’t even be trusted.

I am just super glad he isn’t real,

imagine the sexual assault/harassment

accusations against Mr. Kringle?

Groping Claus isn’t probably invited

to your holiday party, or if he is, he’s

not allowed to have any eggnog or any

of the Rum cakes.

In fact, I don’t think any variation of

Old St. Nick should be allowed anywhere

near alcohol. Plus, I’ve never understood

the whole if you’re a good kid, this old

man will bring you presents while you sleep.

What’s wrong with us and our mythology?

That’s just damn creepy right?

Old man sneaks into your house and leaves

gifts because he’s been watching you to see

if you’re naughty or nice. Gah!

Maybe this whole war on Christmas is

right. Maybe the symbols of this season

should be less about pleasing an old white

man and more about being good to each other?

I don’t know, I’ve had too much eggnog and

there are elves coming on to me. They want it.

Look at how they’re dressed. All tiny clothes,

and you know, curled up shoes, striped stockings,

yeah.   They want what this Santa’s got.

Ho-Ho- damnit I spilled my eggnog all

down my Santa suit.

God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen,

Shhhh, shut up, shhh……