come harvest

We don’t get storms around here,
the way we used to,
when I was young.
The thunderheads
have been neutered,
and the tornadoes
tend to gravitate
towards towns
that would have died soon,
The mechanic and the grocer
walk outside,
see their impending destruction,
and say to themselves,
“It’s about goddamned time.”
The taxman grinds his teeth,
and Death counts his money.
It’s a little short for Spring,
but it’s gonna be a bumper crop,
come harvest.


as good as it gets

I haven’t made
a good decision
in my life,
but there is no regret.
Regret would infer
an intention to change.
I don’t want to know
what would be
if I had followed the other path,
if I had taken a left
instead of a right.

If I could meet the other me,
the one who made
all the right calls,
I’d probably be
more disappointed,
than jealous.
to find that all
of my poor decisions
were the right calls,
all along.


factory installed

I used to think
I was a good person.
Even when I would do something wrong,
I could always convince myself
that I was doing it
for all the right reasons.
It took a while to figure out
that the evil that men do
comes factory installed.
The men and women
that suppress these urges
deny everything that makes them human
in the first place,
so one could reasonably suggest
that the good ones
are broken.

distill life, poetry

all for naught

And after the latest unilateral decision,

an executive order

striking down a previous victory

for civil rights,

Manos decided

that he was called upon

by the good Lord above

to strike down this scourge,

the Governor of his home state.

He went into seclusion,

and began meticulously studying

every possible detail,

every nuance,

every outcome that could diverge

from his endgame.

He put himself

through rigorous physical training,

forging and honing

his body into a living sword.

After planning and obsessing

over all details

spanning a two year period,

the report came over the wire.

The governor had passed away

peacefully in the night,

surrounded by loved ones,

likely natural causes.


breaking the fourth wall

This is the template
for all the writing
I have done,
all the writing
that will come.

This is the part
where I set the location,
through stating the time of day,
(or rather, night.)
and what I’m drinking.

This is when I say something
gritty and real-sounding,
perhaps blasphemous,
and you feel the need
to brush your teeth.

This is the part
where I say something negative
about something beautiful,
(or perhaps,
the opposite.)

This is where
I break your heart.

This concludes our broadcast day.


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