A falling out

I've had a falling out with the day

Night and I have separated

because of an ongoing affair with my computer

and work that occupies my time at all hours

Each excursion marked by the awkward pause of my exit,

a surprise meeting with a recently left lover.

"Hello sun" or "Hi moon"

I cast my eyes about

squinting, trying to get my bearings

I don't know where to look,

what to say…

What topics are out of bounds?

Do I ask if she's doing well?

Common courtesy escapes me

I lower my eyes, my brow shading my eyes

and forge ahead. 

Nothing is forever

The city is crumbling. Friends fall away, creating little avalanches of memories tumbling to nostalgic irrelevance. Companies and travel pluck off both enemies and acquaintances to parts unknown. Towers fall taking favourite restaurants and communal wells until you stand alone on a mole hill that was once a mountain, surveying a new world. So you pull on your boot and head out into this new jungle and create again what you once had.

Makes clowns of us all

In compliance to the machine
I clothe myself as a clown
burying dignity under
yards of polyester,
individuality under
swathes of rayon.
And stretch to match,
tooth for tooth,
the smiles of coworkers

Hands out for tips
I beg with
cloying conversation and
put on friendliness
I perform for you
because you are money
and I the worker.
You the mark
I the grifter.

Struggle

The sound of battle
floats over the hill.
It had moved on,
leaving the bodies
still as the earth
to which they return.

A flutter of black wings
calls attention to a man.
Untouched he walks through the dead.
He cocks his head
listening to the cacophony of war
and walks safely behind.

fuzzy details

They slip past unnoticed
like carpenter ants or termites
life goes blithely by
and the roof stays above you
and the walls around you
and all is good
until the details have gnawed away
the solid base of the big picture
and it comes crashing down
around your ears

leading

What's the meaning
of this 10 dollars?
Slipped from sweaty palm
to sweaty palm.
Increased freedom? dinner?
encouragement from God?
The livings and die-ings
the comings and goings
of relationships, insects,
relatives and moneys
all come freighted
(or so it seems)
with meanings too subtle.
Upon these
(butterfly breath) meanings
I place my decisions
placing ideas on intracicies set to topple
betting on shadows and breezes
on coffee grounds and cigarette ash.
In this fickle world of faith
I place my future.

Settling

The faces of classmates and childhood friends

grow more familiar each year.

Faces and stomachs grow
Rounding up over cheekbones and trouser tops

With each pound, growing to resemble

The clerk at London Drugs,

The hotel night manager,

The owner of the corner store
That have always existed.

Stomachs and jowls sag 

weighing down their owners,

keeping them seated in office chairs and la-z-boys.