Captains of Industry

The laundry mat is always full.

washing machines
massive blocks of white cubes.

Islands in a sea of color.

The mismatched dressed patrons
of the laundry mat, look like
pirates.

Captains of their laundry carts.
They hang
brassieres,
bed sheets,
and stained work clothes on the carts
like sails
on a ship.

Fighting off one another,
waiting to strike,
taking the dryer like plunder.

While the washers spin like vortexes,
whirlpools in their bellies.
hungry monsters
eating up all the loot.

The mismatched patrons, the wives of the
working class.
keeping their husbands and their work clothes clean-
keeping the washing machine going in order to
keep the cogs in the machine of Capitalism going.

Industrious.

Masters of their own destiny
and the true
Captains of Industry.

10'

Coaches Make Winners

He was yelling at
them.

Barking out orders
to small athletes,
as they pretend
to be football players.

He yelled at them
with so much anger,
it was verging on hatred.

like a drunken father,
planting fear.

Some cried,
it only angered him more.

I felt I needed to do something.
This is not the way to make men.

These small athletes, still boys,
will learn not to cry.

They will learn to be ashamed of it.

They will grow to be men,
scared to be seen by other men,
as weak
as fags
or homos

They will grow to be incomplete men

incomplete to their future lovers and wives.
incomplete to sons of their own.

This is no way to make men.

I talk to another coach to do something, anything.
He tells me the Coach is doing his job.
He looks at me like I could never understand.

I can't understand,
and for this
I am grateful.

10'

At least

She once told me
she needed to be nicer to people

nonsense.

She was one of the nicest
people I knew.

That was,
 until
I needed her to be nicer to me.

I  tried
to understand her like a book.

She closed her cover before i got half way.

before i could figure
out how it was going to end...

But she was,
who she said she was.

She may be a little fucked up,
but at least she's not a liar.

11'

figuratively speaking

(B Side)

figures drawn on page
figure eight in the ice

She's kept her figure

action figures
figurines blown to smithereens

father figures
failure
forgiveness

You'd figure
we'd have learn our lesson by now.

New York In Autumn

It was the spring after the towers fell,
I went to New York with
a broken heart.

I wanted
company, so I decided to walk
the City streets.

The people were beautiful.

The women  shined
in their spring  dresses.

They shined like the City at night

Even among the concrete and the brick,
Nature was green and alive.

The birds, (not killed off by cab
fumes)
even got into the act.

But,
it was all too much.
far too much.

As I walked down crowded streets,
I felt alone.

I must come back to New York
in Autumn.

When the weather is mild,
and the people cover
their skin.
the leaves on the trees
will be dying.
and the birds will prepare to leave for the winter.

Then, there will be the most beautiful breeze,
as we all button up our jackets,
together.

11'

Busted Halo

I've got a busted halo
hanging from my head
and
a broken wing.

My white robe at the cleaners with a stubborn coffee stain.

My infinite love, narrowed down to Blondes.

My sword of justice,
(only used once)
up for bid on an auctioning site.

I am not much of an Angel,
but instead have lived
one Hell of a life.




11'

Great Expectations

There are times
when we know ourselves so well,
that eventually,
we fail to surprise ourselves.

I know what I plan on doing,
even though I keep
saying I won't.

You have expectations of me.

I tell myself this time is different,
I have greater expectations of myself.
At least I say I do.

This is not a form of lying,
lying requires knowing the truth first,
and
with you I can only guess.



11'

plum (a metaphor for carnal relations)

The plum's deep purple color is
appealing.

Not having tried one in awhile,
I remember that they can be tart
or sweet.

There is an expectation before the bite-

Then there is a surprise-
or
none at all.

11'