Proposal

Rose peddles,

    fall at Laurens feet,

  as she picks them,

one 

    by 

      one,

It never occurred to her,

   how odd it was,

      to calculate her,

                     girlish fantasies,

            until now,

this practice didn't seem 

       so odd,

              long ago,

when life was simple,

           no tough decisions,

     boys called her name,

without digression,

but with a couple of years,

under her belt,

Lauren finally realized that these decisions,

           have consequences,

As a result,

         Laurens life has changed,

sometimes

        for better,

sometimes

        for worse,

but she never truly took 

    these moment seriously,

transfixed,

            a man down upon his knee,

gleaming at a diamond ring,

Laurens vocal chords 

           

            choked up,

dead air passes between her lips,

              as words fail her,

Burying her hand in her face,

             Lauren hides her emotions,

 

blushing,

               crying,

thoughts races through,

        her benevolent mind,

to be,

or not to be,

a Shakespearean expression,

                 how to respond,

to an empirical question,

This man,

        speaks words,

unheard,

   A scene played out,

          on a muted screen,

He’s nervous,

          but unyielding,

          A response demands,

in this limited time,

Rationalization his factors,

                      to the finish line,

       he's smart,

    funny,

               makes lots of money,

and most importantly cares for me 

                      and my family,

But he,

       smokes and drinks,

  easily loses his temper,

               leaves town daily 

                      business or pleasure,

UN-customizable traits,

             There’s no package deal,

 

Unaware the room has gone silent,

    every eye stares at Laurens decision,

Ashamed and confused,

               she runs from the room,

        there's screaming there's pleading,

But

the rose must knew,

Lauren ran forever,

           now befuddled,

        in a field,

she carefully chooses,

            a rose that will decide,

          even or odd,

that is the question,

            marriage to a man,

       with questionable affection.

The Dinner

Stan,
he's a man,
who likes to complain,

on the phone,
face to face,
it doesn't matter,

the type of guy,
you feel sorry for,
after you spit in his food,
because he's alone in a booth,

absent are his friends,
family,

his cell phone sits,
idly,

a paper weight,
on a stack of napkins,

It only rings,
when debt collectors,
seek payments,
from a previous life,

he was married,
and happy back then,

vibrating softly,
straight to voice mail,

Now divorced and unemployed,
his eyes linger,
At pointless game,
played on a TV far away,

Stan's team never wins,
on any day,

Alas,

not everything is so bad for Stan,
as he sits ready to begin,
an endless rib challenge,

The waiter arrives,
late as usual,
Stan frowns and pouts,
demanding a sequel,

The waiter scurries away,
like a cockroach in bright lights,
leaving Stan alone,
with his though and his might,

Stan glances at his dish
and upon further observation,
the ribs are too dry,
the sauce is so sparse,

and what is this?

a hair,
Stan just stairs,
raising his hand,

as a child across the way,
points,
and laughs,

Stan takes notice,

A bully in disguise,
with parents
              no less,

Stan drops his fork,

                      what a clatter,

His face turns red,
sticking out his tough,
the child returns the favor,
no more no less,

Stan stands now,
and shouts to address,

A hair!
how dare you!
sell me this plate
with a hair!

holding it up,
for all to see,
Stan eats to whole,
for all to see,

the child barfs,
upon the showing,
the manager came,
to whisking Stan away,

the customers were groaning,
jeering at the site,

But there Stan sat,
in a fresh seat,
service with a smile,
stuffed and beat,

But off in the distance,
Stan notices something he has long forgot,

a girl sitting alone,
shedding tears,
upon the new jersey turnpike,

unable to control himself
Stan shouts again,

you there,
girl,
why do you cry,
your worries away,
come have a seat,
it'll be my treat,

she turns,
and smiles,

i would,
but i lost my job,
for there was this giant douche,
who ate my hair,

Deadly Desire

Its cold,
the type of cold,
that gives you the goosebumps,
that makes your hair stand straight,

Tonight,
frost befalls upon a man,
Who lived not to long ago,

disheveled,
naked,
exposed,

the elements,
decomposing his flesh,
causing the leather skin to peal,
exposing muscle and bone,

crawling,
reaching out,
with out his hand,
upon his last remaining limb,

pulling on the grass,
as the roots take hold,

dirt flies,
with every grasp,

but able,
to drag his body,
by an old friend,
now a stone marker,

his eye exposed,
hanging out of socket,

a tasty treat,
dangling just beyond,
his mouths reach,

moaning,
as his nose picks out,
a fresh scent,

the smell of blood,
becomes his only desire,

hungry beyond belief,
food escapes his entrails,
like a leaky septic tank,
his stench scaring away any meal

wanting something familiar,
a bloody carcase,
won't attract his allure,

but the ones he loved,
is all he craves for.

All Aboard

Waiting for the train,
           to come to the station,
please take me away,
           to a new location,

where life moves freely,
                                 no picket fences,
                                 no cow manure,
                 to ruin the senses,

to action packed,
                city streets,
        endless activity
on the soles of our feet,

I drift away
          through indecision,
day dreamer awaken,
            at the very last second,

This  trains blowing in,               

                          vibrating the platform,
                          
                                             like a nervous prospect,

So Long Harrisburg

My Friend,
         My friend,
Its Time to move on,
To start a new chapter,
             To leave this stagnant pond.     

My experience tells me  to expand,
                       these dreams of grandeur,
                   they sit ideally,
           hoping for a spark,


   Below our feet,
                    However,

The contentedness
         seeps into the basement,
                                    flooding,
           ruining packed up hopes
             and dreams from a previous life,

these skills dampened,
                    molding,
           decaying ,

stagnant conversations,
             repeated,
                  unfruitful,

no motivation,
     a tearful,
           departure,

No words come,
   With the key in the ignition,

                     Silence,

glaring eyes,
 
           upset but understanding,

A handshake heals old woulds,
          As we cast aside this bad blood,

Departing to conquer the world,
  with these imprinted memories,
        Our paths will cross again,

    But it will be like we left.

Cyberspace

We live in a world,
           where were outta place,
         but we have the tools,
to hit cyberspace,

So your always on-line,
                         
                             cell phone,
                                        laptop,
                            all the time,

don't wanna stand by your side,

when i have,
all my friends,
                in the palm of my hand,

Original thinking,
          turns to a conversation,
                      but that can't happen,
when your not paying attention,

So just stair at the sky,

             notice the stars upon high,

what a beautiful night,
              until a plane flies right by,

like a shit stain crossing the sky.

Mother nature's cruel,
             when she shat in my eye,
she's laughing hysterically,
              at the things that now natural,

omg,
           wtf,
were dating on-line.

We existed

Hello its nice to meet you,
                                 for a time,
                      to unwind,
          drink a beer,
                   sing songs that don't rhyme,

...

but when the clock strikes twelve,
                        were headin out of the door,
             to sing lullabies,
      to a moonless sky.

A Pill for Evolution

Whores,
a word chosen to describe,
a females enjoyment in her,
                             animal instinct,

the sexual encounter,

At one time,
                   no laws governed,
these shameless retreats,

now defined as adultery,

women simply did as they pleased,
with whomever they pleased,
for thousands of years,

but as society came together,
           to formed communities,
people listened to the existence of a god or gods,
             and  a rewarding currency system,

our instincts became obsolete,
                    as towns and countries came to be,
           laws were created,
sins written down on tablets,

those most capable,
         governed the weak,
                and somehow made irrelevance,
                                          desirable,

women no longer cared,
                 about your physical attributes,
rather
          they cared about what they received,

with these societal restrictions,
   came a unforeseen price,
  endlessly riddled with a genetic disease,

Society,
          is tragically flawed,
in a world that ceases,
          to properly evolve.

The American Dream

I believe we are all on a quest against time,
to find meaning in our lives,
but each of us have a disadvantage
with unequal beginning,

To say we are equal,
Is just a play on an appeal,
To our political preference,
of the free market system,

To get ahead we race to the top,
using technology hand and hand,
while our decisions,
often crush our unknown friends,

The blue collar worker,

Now obsolete,
their anger grows,
voices now more irate
and make way for a socialist plan,

I found,
what is fair in life,
will always ride the tide,
of our collaborative thinking,
of whats allowable in a capitalist machine,

The best we can hope for,
is to carve out,
a piece of the pie,

and find one love,
to grow old with,

like two roses in a vase,
vibrantly fading,
until the sunsets.

Wear and Tear

Boredom,
kingdom,
no mystery in the air,
on this day of rapture,
our devil desires despair,

Instant,
classics,
are streaming everywhere,
these desensitized souls,
yawn at the woes,
whom leap upon a dare,

Frightened,
Heightened,,
Tragedies far from home,

This rationed,
passion,
we never are quite whole.

Barf

If I were to spin,
                in circles,
                        for hours,
the world would blur together,
      and my mind would fall apart,

but that's quite ok,
                      you'll see,

because I drink a lot of milk.