i fashioned myself as a rationalist
but even i cannot reason with grief and seasonal flu.
my king always striving to deny me
a day off where i don't feel guilty.
if our sad little grotto had a motto it would be,
"it's not good...it's taking liberties".
i strain to understand the alge-brain
as he mutters "for f**s sake" at my
umpteenth bathroom break.
you can tell a storms-a-brewing
when he co*ks his head..and he asks how you doing.
it was spoken like a true rogue
who's stricken with trickledown megalomania.
on my return they said "how are you doing?"
i said "i am the yellow leaf over a storm drain bubbling."
between painted breezeblock walls you either swagger or you can crawl.
a job well done is no longer enough,
you must eliminate yourself and prove your love.
operation nowhere is now a no-go is now a-go-go.
offer your wife and kids to the logo.
he strides into the alcove
and demands a bottle
of the tears of aristotle.
you may not be plato but
you are not playdoh you are men.
you are not playdoh you are men.