Pollock ice formations
Smeared by cold wipers
Have let the windshield
Decide my fate.
It’ll be the track today,
Turn after turn,
Lap after lap,
A cold and lonely run inside.
But I’ll be warm
Listening to some tunes
Sweating without the icey formations
Taking hold on my eyelashes.
A little less tough? Maybe.
Whatever… It’s taper time.
Here it comes,
I’d rather it colder,
Here it comes,
I’d rather it than what’s next,
The combo is best,
Snow and work,
They don’t play well together,
Leaving nothing but a day to run.
Watching these kids run
Without much reason
For me being there
Creates some distance on my part
From the purpose of their running.
They are so optimistic,
Hoping for the few spots available.
I’m grizzled, burnt, and apathetic,
Too bothered to care these days before tryouts.
Only one here tonight
Will be eligible for my team.
He’ll make it,
So will I
When the time is correct.
Another work day ahead,
But such a beautiful moon,
Makes work far off
Colds not so bad,
How about the ways that dreams
Demur to the reality that we live.
Dreams, the stuff of abstraction,
Giving way to the routine, the predictable.
Close your eyes, let the reels run,
Put to rest stasis, inactivity, all that is mundane.
Stay with the movie, the fantasy,
Right through the end credits before boredom returns.
How about the ways life conquers,
Defeating imagination, adventure, dreams.
Tough when the meaning is not there.
Tough when talking is not an option.
Yesterday, I watched anime,
Sometimes I do that,
Not really understanding what it’s about,
Maybe because I’m too old,
Although, I did grow up on Speed Racer,
Which is sort of anime, I suppose.
This one was different than the others,
A music video of sorts,
A confluence of pop, country, and anger
With a message one of the songs suggested
I shouldn’t even try to figure out the meaning.
Of course, I didn’t listen.
Instead, a took a deep dive,
Free falling through each chapter, scene or song
And attempting to attach my meaning
The artistic expression before me.
My spin picked up its pace with the action of the show
Putting my heart rate and leg ache higher than usual.
I saw death,
I saw cruelty,
I saw the gratuitous ways we objectify each other,
There was hope,
There was revenge,
There was good rising to the top.
The end of the video came soon enough,
My hoodie was drenched in sweat,
Little puddles pooled on the floor under my bike.
I never knew I was sweating,
Lost in the video, absorbed by the music.
Tomorrow I may watch anime again.
Ah, you of quantifiable verbiage,
You counter of words
Where thirty does a better job than ten,
What have you done to my stuff,
The stuff I don’t really care about,
The words I’m compelled to write
That have no real meaning for me.
Self-reflections of a pointless exorcism
A releasing of soulless shenanigans
Fiction for the ambitious sour cream.
I’ll paraphrase, Red, the black Irishman
Who told a young upstart
To check whatever boxes needed checking,
To make the necessary notes,
To put whatever bullshit official paper needs
To be solid, and then leave him the eff alone.
That’s how I feel after reading your BS,
Your treatise of jargon that I would send back to you
If I had such authority.
I wish I cared enough to challenge you
To a duel of words where we summarized experiences,
Where we noted the precision of bullet points, and
Expressed the reality of classroom behavior,
Mine, yours, and theirs.
At least we got a good laugh
Out of what you wrote
To “cover” my(?) ass.
Sometimes it’s all a waste,
The drive, the traffic
The dark mornings,
The same songs,
The same breakfasts,
The same coffee,
But I’ll be damned
If I let the routine
Creep into my life,
Stealing the hope
From any seismic activity or
Be it prophesy or heresy
I’m living this life to get faster,
Kind of a Santino way
Except I plan on getting past the toll booth
And LIVING a long ass time.
Give me that coffee,
Give me those breakfasts,
Let me listen to those songs,
Wake up on the darkest of mornings,
Even when they’re cold,
So I can create new memories,
Beat the traffic, whether driving alone or on the smoothest road
Because none of it, not one bit
Is a waste.