I am an
I
c
e
b
e
r
g
floating in
the
Sea of
Indecisiveness,
hidden motives
lying deep
beneath
the surface,
jagged peaks
of reason
and despair.
Ambiguity
is rock solid,
a mile thick,
algae and
confidence
nowhere
to be seen.
Go with the
floe I tell
myself
melting from
the strain of
trying to
make a
good choice,
if I ask
you out
you could
say no.
Signal Reactions
Red light,
Dont Walk,
Stop, Look,
and Listen
to thoughts of
being tied to a
desk with no
window, fat
loudmouth
next to
me
screaming
into his phone.
Red light,
Dont Talk
about a
home Ive
outgrown,
a
girlfriend
who keeps
me frozen
to the curb.
Signal changes,
I
move forward
aware that barreling
down the boulevard
of broken
dreams
and bootless bustle
like hooligan hotrods
from the
hedgerows
of hell are forces
that threaten to
kill and maim
me
if I cross the
thoroughfare.
I cross
anyway.
Thoughts I Had When You Told Me to Eat
Shit
Should I have it as
an appetizer, entrée,
dessert, in a
sandwich, on the half shell,
a la mode, scrambled,
simmered, steamed,
creamed, scalloped,
seared, boiled, baked,
roasted, fileted,
flambéed, fried, maybe with
a side. Perhaps I can
also offer you something
to chew on, a few
sarcastic words to cut you to
the quick, make you
feel sick, realize youre a
dick who likes
dumping his venom on innocent
vics, gets in his
licks on people just trying to
help him. Or maybe I
should simply smile and
say, have a nice day,
turn around, walk away
from grief
youve given me through the years,
listening to your
bogus fears of losing a tenured
teaching job, a wife
who treats you like a god,
friends who wish the
best for you, of which Im
of that steadfast
crew that wants you not to be a
nit, to which you
replied fuck you, eat shit.
Lost in Thought
in thickets and birds
flowers and trees
sun overhead
moon on the rise
and
wouldnt you know it
Ive tripped
on a branch
I should
have seen
if I hadnt been thinking
I should have been
quiet
and listened to you
when you told me to get
waffles at Key Food
two
cans of soup
frozen burritos
dont forget cheese
and cold cuts
for lunch
instead of replying
Im not forgetful
you think I am
stupid
just tell me the items
you want me to get
then into the car
and off to the woods
where Im taking a walk
and thinking real
hard
was it four cans of soup
and what did you say
we needed for
lunch.
Singular Dudes
Pooch is a butting,
rubbing, pushing, pawing,
I-want-some-of that-cake kind of cat who
lets me stroke his
whiskers and pet his wavy
marcel
coat for as long as and strong as Id
like. When he stares
at me with his slanty,
yellowish-devilish green eyes I get
the feeling
theres someone home
in his
tabby cranium, that Im viewed
not merely as a
hominid meal ticket
but as a
beasty chum worthy of slurping
and burping beer from
a bowl.
Buddy, his younger
feline companion,
is a cat
of a different color, a fearful mouser
who after nine years
of being faithfully fed,
devotedly taken care of, sees me as a stranger
in the kingdom of
carnivores and a source of
continuous perplexity and bemusement.
No going to the bar
with Bud for wet food, ale,
and the
camaraderie of life forms banging heads
together. No going to
the couch for a kneading
session,
plop down, and a restorative nap. No
bounding through the
house bumping up
against
each other, but instead
a gentle extension
of a hand for
sniffing,
a beseeching
dulcet
voice,
a tremulous query,
what can I do
to make you like me?