Looking back on the eye

 Those eyes that look back
Those eyes that feel judged
On a body too big for its application
In an urgency not indicative of its nature

Eyes that look back
and at the last moment look away in fear
Fear of being seen through, evaluated and ridiculed
The pain inside the eye...                                         white hot, the iris scalding, pupil eternal

Those eyes that feel the weight of the observer
That absorbs the outward energies flung like impulive reactions
Sparks that land on the membrane of the turning blind eye

Housewife's life sentence

 She got stuck with the cars
She still keeps up with the trends
1950s sentiment reaching into her temples
Divine antiquated reverberation
Velvet blinders block observation

She turns the hand crank to get the motor started
The wheels go round and the things shudders
But inside it is broken and offensive
The outer paint is expensive

Her habits correspond with her personality
All purpose is simulation for most of us that is true
Illusions of control and age makes it all iffy
Wine to get the middle ground to squiffy

Father should we be less

 Father we always followed your goals
never creating our own
Humble and modest
Pathetic and rudderless

For what would we make of our own destinies
Should we squander our lives to make yours comfortable
Not reach too far for only you are allowed that privilege
Father should we be less and you be more?

Or you figured it out and we are still calculating
It comes easily doesn't it father
We just need to know not to sweat the small stuff
Get all the glory then summarize away

Should we not exaggerate the way you did?
Should we become clones for ambition
Are we deemed invalid without it
condemned to failure lest we follow your goals

That way we stay less and you become more
And when its our turn to win you simply check out
main thing is you get your part

Lost my phone

 I lost my phone my hope my connection
My guile my wisdom my fury my fire gone
I lost it all and stand unhuman
A primitive confusion

I lost my phone I hide behind a shrub
I do not want to be seen
The hours tick by and I lose each appointment
That feeling of missing out

I ask to borrow someone elses
But none of my contact information is there
I have no way of reaching out I am cut off
The sunlight doesn't lull me it is pure anguish

Terrorist brothers

 
The submarine drone boosted
Parked under the wharf
Under the seaside hotel
packed with explosives

The two brothers checked into the hotel
Signed into the book under pseudonyms
Armed the bombs and activated the countdown
Then left to entertain themselves in a local park

The bombs went off blowing pieces of the hotel all over
Pieces of the wharf and restaurant roof shooting over the park
There would be nothing left and the two brothers simply pretended
that they were not responsible for the terrorism

Roof cactus stoicism

 The roof cactus is so stubborn
It sticks and it is so glued
To the dust rotten bird pooped concrete
It has turned into some sort of soil substance

Just to feed the roots of this stubborn cactus
The moss is at its ddorway
The first weed seeds opening
In stern competition

Alas the roots of the cactus
Eat the sooty remains that appear as dirt
Even the moss is struggling to cling to rooftiles
Fine and narrow attempting to exist on the building flimsy edges

Homeless

 Amongst the tight village i went looking for a place to rest my head
There was nowhere
No house was open to me
No available free space

The alleys just echoed NO
And so i kept walking like a body with no soul
Just a man who hadnt slept
And couldn't find a bed

The alleys were so narrow my shoulders hardly fit
I was not welcome here either
Slight relief at their conserted rejection of me
I walked up to the manor where they let me in

But tomorrow I would probably forget where I lived again
Just to see who would let me in