What's the rush?

I can not tell you how much I've lived
to wish myself deceased by now
I'll do more laps if I must do them
but I'd opt for cruise control,
if I could only have it
It's not like I have given up,
it's just that nothing thrills me

Then comes a fellow looking like a stick of incense
who tells me ---Don't sweat it, kid
in geological time, you've already been turned relic

Half Way to Separation

She calls him "dog"
His response is silence

Although he thinks he battles passive,
each goes for the jugular according to their methods

To the pair not going bonkers,
give them till next year

Grim Reaper's Hour Glass

It's said that time is money. This is obvious.
It takes time to mint it, tax it, blow it.
Time is the irreplaceable in every formula.

Measures moods, measures weather.

The universe is clockwork wondrous,
which poses the pendulum as a guillotine,
destroys in order to create anew.

The Face In The Mirror

Who has not at one time or another considered it?
One might say there are two kinds of people;
those who think about it and follow through
those who don't, for whatever the reason

Plastic surgery and suicide have lasting effects.
These are not decisions, you'd want to rush into

Lonliness Made Us Platonic

I wrote a poem to let out the cat
The cat was distraught at your message,
that we call it quits, once and for all
Were we not kindred spirits, like alcoholics anonymous
tortured souls in the chat room medium,
You, pretending to be Lolita - a widower senior citizen
Me, unhappily married posing as a boy peeping through the window

Marry The Masseuse

You lay face down on a mat
Strong hands press down your vertebrae
popping kinks, undoing knots

Pushed deeper into the mat
you smell the humidity of your breath
Refreshed blood reaches your brain
You'd purr. Instead you groan

A Duck flies Escort

Wow, this niece of mine is flipping out
She populates her doodle book with nightmares
stars with tentacles and moons raining down

Someone needs to tell her, stars and moons do not move in packs
Houses don't resemble Christmas trees
Christmas trees don't explode like Roman candles

And who' s that woman on a broomstick
zooming across the winter landscape?
"It's me," says she. A cranked up case, this kindergarten child