Sunday, August 29, 2010

what we call a wage slave

the coffee shop
is a Mac lab today -
slow, silent and dull
and the musician who plays
in the corner, for tips
and free tea
sounds like a terrible
Cash knock-off, and i wish
h wouldn't play at all.
i am enjoying the quiet,
slow nature of a rainy evening
building creaking in the humidity
settling damp timbers into
the foundation, as the hum
of the a/c dries out
damp clothing,
makes me shiver.
i should be able to hear
all of this -
people restless in their chairs,
muffled feet on the floor -
instead, i am trying to discern
the difference in each
song played - so far, all
in 4/4. so far, the same key
i'm no guitarist,
but even i know the difference
between talent
and mediocrity.

Friday, August 13, 2010


working at weddings
is quite lucrative, but
the more i attend them,
the more i'm certain
if i ever get hitched
the only white at the whole affair
will be my skin -
i'll paint enough color to portray
a whole life lived before
this moment, and after
a party shouldn't be pristine,
but messy and drunken
and wrapped up in everyone's lives,
the way we live them,
instead of imagination -
the supposed purity of what you're doing -
standing in a room full of people,
proclaiming -
i'm going to fuck this person
for a long, long time.