A Random Walk Through Boredom's Lands

Scattered, shattered, darting thoughts
I don't know what I think I thought
Lots to do, but I am bored
I hoard and stored what makes me bored
Fragments and too-abstract thoughts
What's more abstract than abstract thoughts on thoughts?
The book is mocking me
The paper's mocking me
Stupidity is mocking me
Your thoughts are garbage-in, garbage-out
It doesn't matter how you process it
I have to hear stupidity
I'd rather go for a walk
Watch T.V., a movie with my wife
Watch a play?
Too literary today--I've bored myself
I close my eyes
I hear the whispers all around
I want to give a walk and take a talk
I saw bluebonnets blooming on the roadside
The wisteria have dropped their purple clusters
I want to bury my face in her nakedness
My arms pressed against my wife
The rest of you can go to Hell
Let us escape yours at least
Its relentless, mocking, cruel demands
On time and life
The crime of rhyme
The cruel crime of rhythmic rhyme
You hear the heartbeat in my line?
Shut up and work
Shut up and let me work
Shut off the phone--no, throw the phone
Thrown into the world
Among a people who don't care
That they mistake me all the time for them
Bring the backhoe to retrench
Your prejudices and hatred of the new
Your constant glue
To every we that you mistake for the true
Like every monster man in Scooby Doo
I'm really sick of all of you
There's Facebook on the phone
An article about creative block
And how it's fixed by using neuroscience
None of this is at all creative
It didn't even break my block
And midnight now has struck my clock
I'll sleep until the crowing cock

Whirlwinds of Being

You think because I live inside a shell
That I am shy, perhaps that I am weak,
Mere mollusk and invertebrate, some freak
At worst, perhaps, at best unwell.
Projecting, you think I must live in Hell--
I either won't shut up, or barely speak--
You call me introverted, nerd, or geek--
Because I will not buy the crap you sell.

The cone snail makes a shell so beautiful
That divers risk their lives collecting them--
A stinging death from living snails is sure
From this surprising carnivore--you mull
The risk over to gain this gorgeous gem
And understand that beauty can't be pure.

Daniel's Plan

My son said, "Daddy, I want a bee hive."
I want the bees to fill my room." "The bees
Will sting you," was my reply. He said, "Please.
I want the bees to sting and fly and dive."

He didn't want the honey--bees alive
And filling up his room to sting his knees
And arms--not safe outside and in the trees--
But crawling on his walls when he'd arrive.

He made this odd request one morning drive
To Kindergarten--perhaps on the breeze
He  saw a bee land lightly on a clover
And thought that no one ever should deprive
Themselves of such soft gentleness and ease
So, ignorant of pain, invites them over.

The Date

Get off your fucking phone--your game
Is not important--nor are you,
Such that you need to send that text
Right now--there's no one that is due
Such rudeness--it will be your next
Dumb accident that brings you fame.

You're on your fucking phone in class,
You're on your fucking phone and drive,
You're on your fucking phone and sit
Across from me and do not strive
To interact outside your mitt--
I stand and leave your fucking ass.

In curiosity I stay
And watch for when you'll notice I
Have left. It takes you almost ten
Long minutes--when the bill comes by--
Before you glance around, but then
Your phone determines, yes, you'll pay.