The forfeiture of dignity

 Ever had to eat a crustacean infront of beauty
Beauty with eyes that could see through
Mock and conspire on a grand platform
Where one would be exposed to elaborate ridicule

where convention and social grace raised eyebrows in contempt

The feast inside the condo events center was no different
Hunger conquered dignity
Longing for the flavor won over decorum
The tongue and the stomach having their way

Therefore I am judged breaching this mos civilis

The mind and it's instinctive craving moved teeth
and serpentine tongue into devouring
The bottomless bowl
The absurdity of over eating here in this large room

Burnt up by derision blemishing the crux of a well shaped urbanitas

The feast was to be looked at and not touched
No matter the impulse or temptation
And here I am, all hands and tongues getting stuck in
The mouth just flesh wall inside hell itself

What a crude spectacle for these particular prestigious observers

Back outta town

 I knew I'd have to make my way back
sky grey blue air cool semi thick
People wandering 
Roadworks never never finished

I look of a shortcut 
Where I might find retrace my steps
To the shack up the way
Sometimes through crowds

Pushing uncomfortably through them
Praying for enough space to get back unscathed
Sun would be up soon frying edges and riff raff
Eyes search for shortcuts

I enter a church half full of it's ministry
some of them move out of the side exit
To let me walk through
Achieving my shortcut

The feeling of progress
A beautiful lie
One that would lull me to sleep
If I ever actually found my way back to the shack

Down into town

 I went down into town
With two others
The helped me all the way
Without asking so much as a thank you

I'm talking about my left leg and my right one
Navigating the pavement
Simple things that my mind could move
I was often accused of being simple

And yet I was perhaps the most complex
Which gave the outward illusion of simplicity
I went down into town on two legs
The strangeness of a biped

The curves of the pavement sidewalk
My own adjustments
Manifesting into flesh and bone
Just to carry me along

Soft food and comradery

Freckles and fraternity
Their fun mix of people
Their local hang out a gallery
The air together is sweet

Friendship is evidenced through feasts and winks
Old stories that have the lot in stitches
Their freckles are now turning to wrinkles
Jovial conversation and livers struggled through beer 

Words words here in speech bubbles
Pouring out of the mouth in gushes
The food going against the flow
The mouths fight for words, chews and swallows

They saw each other as kin
Brothers through thick and thin
Though it was never really tested
No steel to it no blood invested

Just a shout

 All we have is a shout in the wind
A temporary expression
Half an accident, half an impulse
Half a second episode
of a novella our descendents once started

In that short time will we paint reality
With our myriad emotions
Invisible art on the air
Colors of ourselves we can not see
A shout it is

Until we are hoarse in that moment
In space where the lack of oxygen robs our volume
The ability to continue our echoing utterance
There is only silence and starlight
The shout is over

Emptiness welcomes
Transformation flows out here
For there is no purpose in the vacuity
Amelioration comes on as certain as new life
Beyond the dead shouts
 

The box of oblivion

 I'm trying to write a great poem
But dumbness and no brilliance comes over here to my mind
To my racketing fingers that want to produce something unique
Tonight its just a clattering ladder of silly words like the adjective silly

What a meaningful word when it feels literally silly to say the word silly
I try to elaborate some grand scheme of amazing prose
That will impress the reader so much he will go to all efforts to show the world my work
So that they might wonder and look me up and quote me to strangers like maniacs

Could I deserve that or will it be one of those out of reach dreams
What does it take to control the parrot mouths of the internet
That pass names and ideas to all the movers and shakers
Who sift out the winners and throw the aggregates into the unknown box

The box of oblivion maybe thats what ill call this meaningless prose
Yes a box of oblivion a place where effort and attempting go to die
Except these stubborn fingers still bang away on the keyboard
flowing dumbness filling up a dried lake that used to be brimming with brilliance

I'm trying to write a poem
It does pretend every literary vanity
It does wrap up in a silicon coating
it spurts like a burst sewer pipe as you read it all oozing out right down here 

A musician with no grant

 Silly willy wagon musician who never gloated
Now without a swerve a color, an intuition or a float
Bleating like the blindsiding preverbial goat
chilly winking and stinky without any soap

Senseless repetitions an old well timed pun
Then times teenage hounds let loose with their own reruns
As sick and rabid half drunk dizzy eyed
Worried parents drag adolescent as he cries

Now a finger strummer without a drummer
A meth-head jar smoker emotionally bare runner
Piles of wood witch rumours scribbled
Takes a hit leans back hits guitar with dribble