Day 12

On day 12,

I rested.

Far from God--

Judeo, or Christian

yet creator I claim

with my chest

So I rested.

Ran airport 

errands & 

ran into cousins

Still bad at 

staying connected…

Second job, took

day off…

napped at times 

I would run 

group;

this time didn’t 

run these 

old tired bones 

into ground,

didn’t grind 

the beef with 

debt; still 

collect checks 

to cover dreams

and bills

Day 12

steady & harmonious 

as I heeded 

red octagons, 

age, & the wisdom

of taking a break

Exhaled breaths

like winds through 

fresh spring grass–

Day 11

Force words

in quiet morning 

moment.

Rewinding days,

catching up to 

consistency

as dreams feel 

like the fading 

is on the frontline

& you’re brother to 

Marty McFly.

Giving shorts 

to readers with 

ugly knees–

they want pants.

Because pants are long

and cover the ugly

easy.

Words choppy and sloppy

feeling heavy 

like Teeny

is on your chest.

Slide some oil

to me,

70’s baby

bound to new

millennium 

just ain’t feeling right

The internal struggle

unworthy of viral

Vile is not an 

adjective to be used;

scrub it from thoughts 

as the silence becomes 

deafening.

Will throw these 

forced words on 

the wall of the 

blog

and see if something 

sticks.

30 for 30 Day 10

 Day 10 #sing

Belt it out from the 

bowels of the bastards 

who don’t believe in the 

beauty of the sun

#sing the song 

of the remote worker

Remember to touch grass 

from time to time

screen time on overload 

attempt another action

leave the avalanche alone

and inhale fresh air

rushing off cumulous 

connections 

sun peeking 

gives new perspective

allowing to be

#vss365  

Day 9

 

busy, focused

fine hand, handed 

firm drink at day’s end.

along with laughs and 

reaffirming humanity.

be beautiful, be self

steel soul still saddled 

but ride forward 

slight wobble

whip the world with the 

leather it lashed you with 

in past lives

still legendary

dream and plan 

vacations with dementia 

and demented progress 

dug in dirt, but yet to reach

ashes to ashes 

ash the square

square the books

little braided 

brown heads 

still haunt sleep and 

days close 

to commemoration 

take nine breaths 

for billowing wings 

wavering on winds of 

tomorrow

fly on,

and drop

raindrops of hop

on the head of the 

unheard.

Day 8 (ocho)

 Ocho, for 

Senora Sol,

who called me 

Clemente–

danced to afro-rhythms 

& inspired 8th graders 

to expand themselves

Teaching is a hard

job–

But that’s not 

why I bailed

Gets real hard 

raising other kids 

when you can’t raise

your own

Plain language 

not poetic; 

we’ll call it 

ocho,

divisible by dos

for birthdays missed

& uninvited by 

laws & lies 

Loss, losing, loser

Questioning this 

pen, this pad,

them books, this 

life

Down, but not 

out

certainly not filled,

but filled with doubt.

Real words written

in a moment of time

call it ocho,

for consistency & 

loss

Tomorrow’s a new 

day & that

will cost

Day 7

 Late for me

bout 20 min

past 8:30

I’m training…

so they see

what I see

Problem Solver

observer of brilliance 

from instances 

of 8 day drinkers

24/7 standin’ tall

till tragedy hits

But I never split 

from drinkin’ friends

If the obituary is 

at the end

Let them, read it

with all the shit 

from their shot glass

in their chest

to the mess at their split

God bless,

& God save ‘em

from moles (smokin’ in) makin’ holes

we give time

to those who have 

less time to give

One time to teachers

or professors 

who gave bids 

& had that bullshit

accepted

(at accredited universities)

Will never regret 

my ability to do me

whenever you place a 

W4 and keys 

as an offer 

for a job

Hell,

I might rob you blind

But will 

rhyme my way

to paydays and 

pensions

As I watch this 

world 

burn for them

who voted for 

him

who was blasphemous 

on days rising

this dog ain’t never 

blinded to

formats…

that don’t fit