Grasshopper Sunday

it’s the kind

of Sunday

that makes you wish

it was always


always a warm

October sun

shooting at you

through a cold breeze.

even the

grasshopper and the beetle

are enjoying it

on the sidewalk with me.

maybe it’s Sunday

for them too.

grasshopper Sunday.

beetle Sunday.

it’s a lovely

walk to nowhere.

A Soft Landing For The Ego

stepping away

from the mirror,

I blame the world

for cowardice now.

externalizing failure

helps me think about

breakfast, although

I only have one meal to eat.

that’s okay.

a dog barks outside

the open window

and it’s not my fault.

Saturday morning is an excuse,

a soft landing for

the ego.

that’s it,

it’s Saturday’s fault.

and tomorrow

Christ will

get the blame.

Modern Self-Esteem

there’s a need

to prove

I’m not

a robot,

but somehow

I always get

the captcha wrong.

this is the way

of things:

humanity proving itself

to an artificial


this is our

search for



what does an



look like?

I guess

we’re not

secure enough

to know.

My Good Friend

i’ve slept

just up the road

from him 

3 or 4 



he drives this old

SUV with a tent

on top and wears

a fluorescent yellow 


so as not to get hit by

birds and squirrels.

he looks

like an older guy

but i’ve never seen

his face.

he always looks

the other way

and so do i.

it’s a general


not to look at each other

amongst the

pine trees.  

the next morning

i wake up

and look over

to see nothing

but grass and birds.  

no need

for a goodbye.  



in my truck

off the side of some dirt road

I see a head-lamp

and legs going

out my window

and the head-lamp

moved to a car parked closely

behind me.

I couldn’t understand it

but didn’t care enough

to get out of bed.

in the morning

I got coffee going

on my tailgate

and looked at the

license-plate of the car.

it said:


and somehow that

made sense.


the guy got out

of the car

and started packing up

all the gear

he had put out.

then he drove off.

I thought


it’s 7:30am

and I’ll never understand

my own species


at least they

are getting

the message

about me.


I guess

I’m just


about everything.

the old lady driving.

the day of the week.

the bottom of my

coffee cup.

I’ve got this fast machine

with a gas pedal

and another machine

to give instant answers

and between the two

there’s this sorry mind

which can’t decide

if it is passing

or being passed.

so little tempers

crawl me like ants

and there’s another


for the register.

somehow fast

is never fast enough

when it’s all

going nowhere.