Piece of Mind

Slowly I peruse the marquee of struggle, binding by binding

my head, contorted, neck kinked in a confused, doglike manner

generalized under monikers of Self-Help, Eastern Philosophy and Finance.

Lamar may as well sell billboard space atop each shelving unit,

QUICK ANSWERS, FASH CASH, SNAKE OIL! CALL (800) 235-2627.

Books and their contents weigh down on the mahogany shoulders

cut down to their most utilitarian form, these once mighty giants

to support the ongoing questions eternally teased through by man.

The screams of the struggling author muffled on either side by

the tomes of whorific vampire/werewolf star-crossbred lovers

marginally better than the latest Harry Potter Hermione/Centaur fanfic,

save the author with a sixth sense for making shitloads of money.

But hey, sex sells, Rule #34, don't knock it til you try it?

Sorry but I think that one gets the gavel, cover or not.

A tweenage 25-to-life setting new precedents for unrequited love,

can we get Lamar off hold today, I'd really like some ad space!?

The Cosmic Party

The lingering universal hum. Big Bang's resonant remains.
An homage to man's evolutionary mental stability by way
of patterned sound, of pulsing around the constant.
Double-helixed lovers synchronize to the onward drone,
the universal constant, simultaneously reassuring and maddening;
a line blurred by bass drivers of a galactic scaling, the cosmic party.
Feigning contentment despite the onset entropy, the lingering cold
that comes from the stillness, the antithesis constant which derives
all of its nothing from the building tension and eventual spillover
until the Universal heartstring is plucked anew, and the music resumes.

No Better Time...

Shattered glass for brains fragments of memories
the pieces still reflect if you shift, zoom, enhance
and they show exactly what perceives them.
A polyamorous web of time spent fighting the barrage
of cobweb mental block that is nothing more than
the ethereal lack of dwelling on what has come to Be,
Here, Now.