from the collection Oracles & Blabbermouths (c) 2014


Commute, a Sentence


Traffic will often get the best of us

A horn

A middle finger

A cuss or hundreds


The stampede to jobs that most of us

Do not like

Do not care

Do very very poorly


The rush to stoplights and rolling stopsigns

Edge up

Ease forward

Blow through it


The manic desperation of our days its no wonder

Hearts attack

Strokes of genius

Burning questions in our bellies


The whirlwind cadence of jackhammer drumbeats

Angry percussive

Foreign to

Our steady peaceful tempo


What has this world come to?

Where is it going so quickly?

We have become

Fuzzy what-was-thats

Whipping in the periphery


{written circa 2011}