Archive for February, 2017


This is the Sideways

Car clock reads….8:02. Laptop reads….1:02. Stove clock reads….7:02.
Tick tock goes the clock when you’re a pocket watch in a vise.
The jaws close and squeeze hours from the timekeeper’s hands
Pressure dislodges minutes locked in a gold case.
Tick tock goes the clock as seconds drip from the pocket watch in the vise.
That’s how it goes when you’re pressed for time.

Juice the grandfather clock chiming the hour.
Pull its cork and release the years fine as wine.
Stored for ages in their coffin-shaped cask.
Oaken aromas waft as you drink your glass of time.

Cracks in the cask, seams stretching, boards creaking.

Car clock reads…..6:42. Laptop reads….11:42. Stove clock reads….5:42.
Time travel without travel. Stationary existence in more than one timeframe.
The car clock has forgotten daylight savings.
The laptop has forgotten its long since exited foreign borders.
Only the stove tells the truth.

The future, the past, the present state of affairs.
Tick tock goes the clock. Year, month, day, minute, second.
Written in ink deep as a wishing well coated in the flowing copper
Of wishing pennies that liquefied under the pressure.

Of deadlines and timelines and the inevitable lifelines.
The hour is now, your time is up, your seconds run dry, and if you aren’t ready this very minute….

Car clock reads….4:12. Laptop reads….9:12. Stove clock reads….3:12.
All these hours misaligned to the time in which I currently reside.
If I live these times disconnected from the narrative of the here I live
Am I removed from the train tracks of time? Have I jumped off to see
There is more than the forward motion the train conveys.
This is the sideways.

This is the road less traveled, the path less wanted, the road uncrowded
By competition petitioning for fairness and rules and construction of more
Train tracks expediting success and glory.
Write the rules, make the game, so we can do the same.
This idea is a beautiful one. Results without effort. Fame without trial.

Pour your seconds squeezed from pocket watches in vises,
Into your wishing well. Put the cork back into your
Grandfather clock and store that time wine for a better age.

Do not drink your time drunkenly.
Sip.
Use your minutes wisely.
Build yourself with every second.
Learn, grow, know, improve.
Your growth nurtures those around you.
Happiness engenders happiness. Strength engenders strength.

Be rigid and regular as the pendulum.
And always keep moving. No matter what.
Time moves on and so do you.
No matter what.

Car clock reads….2:22. Laptop reads…..7:22. Stove clock reads….1:22.

Biological clock reads….exhausted.

But, pleased.

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Violins Over Violence

I prefer violins over violence.
What more can I say?
I don’t need vini vidi vici
to get where I’m heading.

But you? You’ll never understand.

You can yell at me and cuss me out
But you’re not getting what want
If that’s the way you do it.

Why should anyone be afraid of a bully like you?
You belittle, you degrade, you step up on that stage
And paint yourself to be the paragon of perfection.
But you know what? Knowing what I do and seeing what I’ve seen,
Your mask doesn’t impress me.

The shrivelled skin you hide behind your mirrored mask
Those imperfections you can’t let others see
Know that they show around the eyes.
Little peaks every now and again appear
In the holes of your disguise.

The one part you can’t cover
Because then you’d be blind in your lie
Well, they’re what give you away.
And the scars that you won’t show?
I know they’re there. They have to be there.

And (laughs) it’s funny.
Simply because you don’t reveal your scars, your deformities, your eccentricities,
I can picture them however I please.
Though they may be the minor remnants of an insignificant burn,
I imagine you became trapped in an inferno you originated simply because you wanted to light a fire under someone’s ass.

See, those scars? Your imperfections?
I wouldn’t mind them if they weren’t slathered in slander and misdirect.
We’re only human, and hey, I have my own.
But I accept mine so I can accept those of others.

Honey wins more flies than vinegar. But no matter how much you smother
Your acetic personality in artificially sweet molasses,
I’ll never do what you want.

Yes, there are some that will. But they’re playing your game
To take advantage of you.
Like minds flock alike.
The geese will come.
And, guess what?

Molasses and feathers don’t go well together, as history has shown.

Your artificial friends, they’re all playing the Art of War.
With them, there will only ever be victors and victims.

But you did this to yourself.
You put on your mask, you put on your armor, you hid behind your barrage of insults just to protect the shriveled man you know yourself to be.

What kind of life is that?
I’ll keep listening to Beethoven and his violins.
While you mimic Bonaparte and his violence.

When you get banned to your own private Elba,
I’ll write to you out of the kindness of my heart.
I’ll send you this message, simply written:

I prefer violins over violence.
What more can I say?
I didn’t need vini vidi vici
to get where I was heading.