I look at the flab, in the mirror

it's good I think, to grab a thing local

a recent sighting, a current event

add to it personal brine, and spice

lean in, carve it, like we do with turkey

making a meal, of what we'd ordinarily

quip as fowl, or chicken-shit.

the way of life, as sailing ships

everything enroute...

cumulous, and sands of beach

our vitrification, of porcelain

and imported teas

the winding pattern

of current and thinking

surely, in this we are skilled

its a modest thing, miniscule

this string of words, around the neck

worn like pearls, I take them out

sometimes, for dinner wear

They satisfy the eyes, and go

with any dress, and tie us, over

like aperitifs, in the night.

I'm going to be the one, to remind

it's not about summers, destinations,

but the fall, where the seed, will have had,

before the after, that tender looking out,

and the future, a head seen as bearable, after all

The Sun asked of its child, what will you do

with your one wild and precious Life?

she moved slowly, around the thought,

another day, another year yawning at the girth.

Oh! to let it all hang, now, but she measured the waist,

Seems all the forms have spread, from the equator belt

Some sort of pull between North and South, perhaps

it is time for a corset and girdle, to hold it in, and

ready myself again for the annual Solar Ball, whence

the other planets line up, to dance amidst the stars...

Rumor has it, maybe it's someone else's turn to carry??

Midnight spreads the table, the moon

our place, setting, and we say cheese!

click, click, hands turn as chopsticks

always empty, when the hour strikes

and the sky's black tongue licks the plate

clean, then we've eaten, in a way, even...

We put arms on the table

we trace the grain, or linen, or other veins

or fold our fingers, and wait

We count chairs and plates

the hands of the clock change place

and we watch, with horror, grrr

as our guest pushes back a seat

and sets both feet, atop the table.

Johnny had an iPod 6ptx

In Minnesota he lost IT

I mean he lost his mind

All the Connectors and

Contacts fell out till

He was Blind

Donald Trump

Mother Teresa

Vanna White

He cussed

Is this what success is

Into the umpteenth Century?

Talking to the Empty

Screen to scream

Johnny had a Shot

Actually he had a Lot

He had a Winchester

He had Honey Bourbon

He had a one in a million

Hole in one

In Minnesota

He lost IT

I mean he lost his power

All the giga bytes in the data wiped

Verizon said,

No

No bars on his cell yet

No county penitentiary

No booze, off Broadway

He'd get his wagon on

Overdrive

AA

AAA and

Ay! ay! ay! ay!

Wait a minute

Johnny'd rather have the Rolly

But he still has a Timex

And he could do it,

Right.

I don't know, what is it makes me dwell on November

Almost all the year a different kind of new, to us

10 months gulped, and this 11th emits a long cold yawn

A mist or fog that sits, pneumatically upon the lung

of Mother Nature, for those not perpetually on vacay

I look at the calendar, ah yes... it's All Souls Day.

but here I am, in another scheme

thought I'd put the bod to rest,

yet here I am, someone else

different pains, and feeling same,

situations altered, but reality remains

I still see, these peripheries of me

foreign hands, torso holding, legs

these steps, never quite mine,

that animate... a semblance of Life