#30/30 (Better Late…)

Racing thoughts in word salads
replace jumping sheep
and responsibilities

Mumbling accompniment
to my silence
is the elevator music
of rising dissatisfaction

I don’t even want to listen anymore

#29/30 (Spinning Plates)

Place a plate atop the dowel.
Flick it around,
and around,
and around.
The plate is spinning.

Place a plate atop the next dowel.
Flick it around,
and around,
and around.
The plate is spinning.
Go back to push the prior plate.
Spinning,
spinning,
spinning.

Place a plate atop the next dowel.
Flick it around,
and around,
and around.
The plate is spinning.
Go back to push the prior plate.
Spinning,
spinning,
spinning.
The next last plate begins to wobble,
tilting,
flapping,
flying by means of falling.
Push it until it spins,
spins,
spins.

Place a plate atop the next dowel.
Flick it around,
and around,
and around.
The plate is spinning.
Go back to push the prior plate.
Spinning,
spinning,
spinning.
The next last plate begins to wobble,
tilting,
flapping,
flying by means of falling.
Push it until it spins,
spins,
spins.
Going back further,
the plate is losing balance,
the adjustments weren’t perfect.
Lopsided, elliptical rotations.
Push,
push,
push.
Maintain the rotation.

Place a plate atop the next dowel.
Flick it around,
and around,
and around.
The plate is spinning.
Go back to push the prior plate.
Spinning,
spinning,
spinning.
The next last plate begins to wobble,
tilting,
flapping,
flying by means of falling.
Push it until it spins,
spins,
spins.
Going back further,
the plate is losing balance,
the adjustments weren’t perfect.
Lopsided, elliptical rotations.
Push,
push,
push.
Maintain the rotation.
And here’s the first plate,
almost losing control.
Catch it before it falls
as the new plates start to falter.
Grab the lips and push them around,
around,
and around.

Plates and dowels
are raining on the stage
from unimpressed onlookers.
Adjusting the plates takes time.
Enough time for plates to falter.
The shock from the plates and dowels
thrown from the crowd
perilously shakes the petit pillers propping plates.
More adjustments are needed.
The boos rumble.
More adjustments.
More time.
More wobbling.
More faltering.
Sweat falls like precariously placed plates
eventually will.

#24/30 (Us)

We find joy,
innocence,
and expressiveness
to be suspicious.

What you love
without reservation
we will ravage.

Your smiles
are the lady
who doth protest
too much.

If you’re not as filtered
as a picture on the internet,
I have to wonder
what’s taking so much
to hide.
We all hide something.

The optimistic struggle of the 60s
settled into the 70’s endless party,
that got tired in the 80s.

The 90s filled with cynics,
poking holes in the joy
while trying to find their own.

The 00s was ironic.
Finding a way to smile
in the scraps they’d been left.
And the wild west of
interconnectivity.

Now we feel the joy is gone.
Teeth are never smiling.
They’re aggression.
The best we can do
is laugh madly
at disintegration.
And swim in the broken levees
left by previous generations
as the rapids sweep us to
and endless ocean.
So we laugh,
because it’s loud,
and it looks like crying.