Kindred Spirits

To live and die on that land
Breathe the soil-soaked air
The dissipating scent of tobacco

Newport Menthols

Degrees in arts and sciences
Silly things of the past
All part of an irrelevant future

College Boy

Hands dirtied and hardened with labor
A Man's Labor
A blue collar job

Real Work

To live in the paintings of John Constable
Autumn in the New England country side
And the ambiance of Thoreau

True Romance


Pink octopuses ride by
Shopping carts race through
The mind's eye is plastic

Paper Oceans

To breathe the air of Jupiter
Inhale the gas
Get high on the humidity

American Wang

Cut the hair
And straighten out
Nothing else to do

Family Values

To look to the future
Prepare to move on
For the sake of self

Life's Ahead

Chaos-linguistics

Subject: John Michael Gort

Year: 2066
Location: Jupiter Florida Retirement Home
Journal: Entry #1

Sun-light pierces my eyes as I jolt awake blinking and struggle to gain a regular breathing pattern. The night nurse has done her usual. My catheter bag has long since overflowed and the pool of urine on the floor had plenty of time to congeal. It is now a toxic piss bag stew that physically makes my eyes cringe and water in defense. I subconsciously evaluate the angle of the sun's light through the window and my realization makes the pee-stink become a comforting blanket around my mind excited about my last pleasure in life. It is finally time; I am allowed. I rise with pained cracks and pops of hollow death and curve my back forward while blinded by tears. I clasp sporadically in the air in a desperate attempt to grasp the dangling Morphene pump and collapse into narcosis. In these sweaty moments of agony the nasally chatter of the morning nurse in the hallway, ignoring my many immediate needs, is like steel-wool scrubbing the inside of my skull. The intense pain makes time pass more slowly and I ponder the importance of self-examined speech. While most speech is vanity, people talking to hear themselves talk, some individuals achieve a greater quality of speech by listening to the silent existential abyss and attempting to speak something worth breaking the silence. After countless painful blind attempts I finally feel the plastic pump appear in my hand. Without hesitation I compress the button and snap limp in the bed without saying a word.