Saturday, June 30, 2012


some days are angry wasps,
or lonely birds,
and I'm a colicky one,
never quite fit the puzzle piece,
caged in a damp shirt,
a box fan works the sticky heat through dusty spaces,
perched floors above,
the swarms of traffic,
rushing trucks bullet,
from deadline to deadline to deadline,
clenched jaws,
swallow the fatigue,
and long for the sanctuary,
of a good night sleep,

I'm not expecting tenderness,
or a comforting touch,
emotions remain an untamed ox,
when the mind is mush,

if everyday is a mountain climb,
than I'm a man with a crutch. 


Anonymous said...

This is great writing. Honest. Truthful, raw and well-blended. We are all angry wasps, in our own right. Trying to find the hive and protective, lashing out at anyone who tries to get in our way.

Fisheye Lens said...

The grumbling hive keeps buzzing away no matter what happens to drones like us. The challenge some days is to believe we can survive outside it. Great stuff, as usual.