Making my way home

 The car was running and I made it up the hill
Through slippery mud
Got into the car 

Check
smell of wd40
illusion fo fresh metal
illusion of safety

Death wasn't peaking
Obviously I dirties the mat through
I turn the key over and engine up up up

Without looking properly backed up
Drove onto the mainroad
nonhuman mammal passengers

Though with the full disguise of human
The road led down into a junction
The junction bamboozled my mind

I felt right at home with these human looking mammals 
For I had taken the wrong road
Along the wrong road I was forced to make a hazardous turn

This I would get myself back into the right road
I saw my life flash and all of that nonsense
Mostly just neon signs and porridge mind you

I pulled into the airport, it was empty
But the coroner said my blood alcohol levels were zero

The hand of field labour

 We hugged each other and sat by the boundary fence of the hotel
We looked down toward the neighboring farms
Where labourers were happily labouring 

In the fields under the pantha sun
Picking fruits and vegetables in grand baskets
Their hands so delicate and calm
As our hands still shook from the city

From the agitation adn earthquakes we created
And as sweat beaded and trickled on our faces
Their faces shone dry unaffected by the warm weather
They moved about in magical grace as lumbered clumsily

We speculated on how perfect their lives might be
Their pains and hardships well hidden unseen

Orange glow of separation

 The argument had eaten through the available exits
Just a fight a domestic dispute

Two people standing in a building after the fire
Arguing grimly about where the furniture should go

A future spent years drawing up between them
Now a municipal ruin
Paperwork soaked through
Foundations disagreeing with the house

The problem sat in the room like a thing delivered.
No one wanted to claim it
No one could move it

They walked back and forth
avoiding the centre,
Where floorboards developed opinions

Words came out dreadfully specific
Small instruments.
Each one inspected, sharp and placed between them

Neither shouted
Yet what a dangerous arrangement

Across the room curtains held an orange glow
late afternoon caught in the fabric
like trying to escape a burning envelope

The sun continued outside
Indifferent disciplined
Its right rays operating beyond the glass.

Dust moved through the light
small organisms enjoying the warmth

The room had not been taught and stood ignorant
Ashamed yet horny

It continued bathing awkwardly in the orange glow
its stupid suggestion that warmth was still available

They divided the future
Each one knowing what would be abandoned
and what would follow them

The curtains continued to glow
The house kept its mouth shut

And between them
the problem remained
heavy as those metal fixtures
Holding up the sun

Almost a tropical lymerick

 I crept through a window
The hotel room was sparse
the carpet thick but the walls lacked class
The bed was huge days went by fast

A big bathtub in the back for sex
A great inviting shower right next
Laying back on the bed we discussed things to do
How the holiday would be good for us two

Th hot afternoon outside awaited
Burying it's hot hands in the entrance door
Walls beside it's beating we couldn't ignore
So we exited to join the sun and adore
The beach and city and every tour

Identitiless

 At customs they wanted an extra form of identification
I searched my wallet and phone to find the missing identification
I had to prove to these uniformed titles that I was who said I was
Or be suspected of ulterior motives, drugs, crime or smuggling

However, I didn't know how to do it
I was forced to prove that my passport wasn't a forgery
I felt like I was pushed into a corner
As the woman sat there antogonzing me I felt my bladder

Yes i needed the bathroom badly
And I could almost not a tiny twinkle in her eye as if she knew
There was also the need of drinking and eating
So I rummaged again attempting to find another form of identity

But there was nothing, no nationality
No age or gender
No spectrum or condition
Just the wrath I had for their systems

I shed my dumbells

 I threw the dumbells across the sulphur swamp
Midday sun governed by winter
short layer of clean water passing through from a nearby river

Both of the weights landed on the far woode bridge
Something submerged that used to help locals cross
Now it had no use except to give a landing platform for water life

The wood buckled slightly under the impact of the weights
Almost snapping a slat or two
Then the dumbells rolled slowly into the darkmix of water and mud

Sinking somewhere noone would ever discover them again.

Tuned mass damper

 It sways inside the building
A clock for the hurricane
The bracing effect
A robust structure

Shifting and returning
Obeying the internal pendulum
The storm outside
testing from all sides