This week’s Little Vines.
well, at least we are consistent
ring a bell
a spangled frosty bell
crack the icicles from the eaves of the snow-covered house
the newest weight-loss diet takes the podium
all the snide torsos that have been dragged in to listen
jiggle their fat and plot subversion. We’re going nowhere, they say.
a partying twenty-two-year-old
turned into this disappointed retired man –
it took forty years to work that magic but I did it
said that tyrant, Passing Time
fragile and nervous
like a scared old chicken
who’s just heard about the concept of pot pie
I said no
to the phosphorescent knuckles hovering overhead
I said, You’re just a little punk, you ectoplasmic bully. Goo away.
Today I tried out a leisurely emotional outburst
but my pace was too slow and
I kept losing my place in my rant
in their shimmering heat
the murky shape, was that you?
slipping through the purple mist
dripping from the blackberry moon above us
we’ll do it together
ice the cupcakes
chase away the melancholy
with dollops of chocolate frosting
the wildflowers that I see
growing among plastic bottles and rotting fruit
in the garbage dump
the design is neat and clearly drawn
but will singing neon pants really sell?
wrapped in fall-apart-to-the-touch cocoons
stacked here in the forgotten attics of last year
the painting on my hotel room’s wall
three days we’ve been here. three days of looking at it
I still can’t tell what it is. Jeez what an awful hotel this is.
that’s your job
he wants to offer you
I repeat, you already work here