Eight Times Recycled

You must be taking acting classes.

Show them then

That smile that beguiles

Then fades in the shades.


A flash, a bang, and alas,

Hello Lucifer

Tell me

Which spider spins that sweet silver string of yours?


Came to candy land and left with a mouthful of sand.

Walked up to a rose and aimed straight for a thorn.

Dab away at your eyes

A dark hurt I know.


This cellphone must be waterproof

But what can I do?

These brain cells are forcing my hand.

How I wish there were a switch.


Pour the poisoned potion in her favorite coffee

And watch her come back for more

With a smile,

Justified too.


The chime of time gets louder by the hour

The thick brick wall is coming up quick.

A moan

And not the good kind

You can taste the antiquity in it.

The wear of the years,

The stage has been set by age.

Clean up in aisle sixty-eight!

Stares through me

And asks the same old question

The times. Where have they gone?

Jump out of bed young man I said

There’s nothing for it pop

We’ll see the doctor in the morning.

The Customary Things We Do

Is it not fallacious

To call

That which causes

So much pain

And spills

So many tears

By one word?


This sacred ceremony for the fallen.

Unforgiving to the living.

A pair of constricted pupils

A ballistic limbic system

And a face of familiar agony.

A heterogeneous hurt

In rows of plastic chairs

Overlooking a wooden coffin.

And asking

Why this?

Why him?

Why now?

Dear God why me?

And the dead,

Burdening us with his absence,



His asking days are over.