Mass-Market Man


my potential 
has just now 
been tapped
on its shoulder
by the manicured 
fingertips
of opportunity
and so far
lousy luck 
has not tripped me
before 
I step up
to the podium 
and give my 
sappy speech 
where I thank
the lucky breaks
which stopped 
my advance 
toward the doom
and the greasy grind
of slinging burgers
under the yellow
arches of mediocrity 
brain frozen
from sipping 
iced compromise 
and all this
bliss is happening
because 
I reached inside
to my source
shared it
and discovered 
that the interpersonal
hush of
secrets
once revealed
are always universal

Ambulance Chaser


bypass the heart attack
and don't go out
in that broad stroke
of genius
known as
sleeping through
your own death
instead go out
surrounded by
jugglers who go
for your jugular
or go out
on a limb
limber as a gymnast
until the branch
breaks then
fall with the
autumn leaves
and land with a thud
on the auburn crud
or better yet
lose a game
of strip poker
slash
Russian roulette
and die in a
naked
bloody Peckinpah
pirouette
then writhe
on the floor
only to extinguish
your existential
anguish
with
one
more
silver
bullet

The Ecstasy of Agony  


I am tired of going
the extra smile
and giving two 
hundred percent
while the next
guy gets where 
I'm trying to go
by the skin 
of his generic
genetic attributes
just for once
I would like to have 
the asymmetrical  
advantage at that 
cocktail competition
otherwise known
as happy hour
where the 
natural selection 
is made 
and those
who have inherited 
that look of wind
in their hair
go home
flanked by 
the checkmate
of femininity 
while the rest
of us guys know
too well
you can go home 
alone again

Affection Deficit Disorder 


half the time
everything happens
over my head
or under someone's breath
out of earshot
around the corner
where now meets
then
and the most 
important messages
I get are delivered
in a whisper
or by the stroke 
of luck that we all
call the
trigger-point therapy
of touch
but when 
important data
containing the 
life-saving minerals
found in love
are lost
then you will
find me scrounging
the quantum physical 
realm most commonly
known as
totally bumming out





Raising The Bar


hey, old-timer,
come over here
I know this quaint
off the beaten track
little hole in the wall
dive where you 
can really let your
hair down
and shoot 
some pool
do shots
and get a pint
of dark Ale 
and listen
to cranked up
Van Morrison 
tunes
played by 
a vintage
junky
jukebox 
and if you 
get too 
inebriated
there is a
Tavern Inn
upstairs
where you 
can crash
and kick
your feet up
and they 
serve a 
complimentary
continental 
breakfast
all day,
everyday
till eternity 
Hell, didn't
anybody tell you
Heaven
was going 
to be like this?

Seriously Chill

there is no one
following you
tapping your phone
much less checking your
boring browser history
there is no biographer
attempting to unearth
the dirt underneath
your fingernails 
as you scratch your head
wondering how you 
failed to crack the code 
of some golden goose's
egg
nor is their a gonzo journalist
going commando 
at their laptop 
to get the viral 
scandalous scoop
on you
and the illuminati
is not conspiring 
to cover up their
tracks behind 
those that talk 
about you
behind your back
the truth is
even the tooth 
fairy gave up on 
you long ago
check under your pillow
and you will
see I'm right

Crowd Control

I am shackled to my 
freedom and
I am tethered to 
the feathers of my 
flights of fancy
I get antsy
if I am forced 
to sit in one place
facing some face
that is attempting
to place me in 
a cubicle or a box
and I rebel against
those who will 
define me
with refined 
labels that
I duly rip off
leaving my lapel
torn
and you will only 
see me conform
when I stand in line
at the movies
perchance 
to sit in the darkness
with the popcorn dreamers
all of us coked-up on Pepsi
unknowingly puckering our lips
when the Hollywood stars are aligned 
for a kiss