Extra Time

Sweat drips. Calfs pound. Countless hours. Clock wound. 

Eternity within reach. Mustering focus and grit. Heartbeats collectively accelerate. This is it.

Calculated chaos. Preparation unfolds. Certainty to panic. A sight to behold.

When seconds last hours. Men become boys. Factions are selected. Billions ride on a toy.

The balance of life. One anointed. One relieved. 


Forgotten? Occasionally thought of. A legacy no more. Cherished? Unrespected. A wife. A whore.

Showboating around town? Mindless of manners. Respected by few?  Does it even matter?

Of course it does, or did, rather, at least. Once upon a time there was no midnight creep. 

Shit changes quick. Selfie game fleek? Acronyms and emojis. Tongue in cheek? Up shit’s creek. Down with the ship? Count to ten. Don’t peak.

Sleeping Beauty

Lucious and plump. Salty and sweet. Vivaciously whispering. A midnight treat.

Spoon fed via shovel. Hand roasted Devine. Affinity is trouble. Motionless swine. 

Bamboozled and flustered. Coy and erect. Incoherently lusted. Long live respect. 

Luminous bubbles. Crispness of thought. No more trouble. All for nought.

Infatuation passed. Adornment stalled. Hit the replay button. Give her another call. 

Focus Pocus

Tea bags and breaststrokes. Limp noodles and okey dokes. Clocks wound. Caps hung. At least, respect your anthem. And, stop blaming others for your own faults. Learn to man up and walk the fucking walk. Get off social media. Get back to life. Enjoy what you have. Stop fighting the wrong fight.

Mindless midgets suppressing their moments of fame. Countless cunts simply following the same. Who should we blame? It’s not me or I. There must be a scapegoat to smack in the eye?

Prodded and provoked. An act of war invoked. One desperate gasp as you are being choked. Asleep or awoke. A victim of a cloak. The only way out is to soak in your yoke.

Practice what you preach. Better yet, don’t preach, just practice. Get better each day. Nonsense shouldn’t distract us.

Focus on your goals. Thank those who help. Give back to some. Accumulate the proper kind of wealth.

Cachinnation from an Agelast

Fickle and fatuous. Canoodling a fard. Donnybrooks ensue. A rambunctious ra-tard.

Smellfungus shenanigans. A quean’s delight. Pettifoggers malarkey. Not a goombah in sight.

Sufferin’ succotash meets jumping jehoshaphat. Lawd have mercy, look at Jessica Rabbit’s ass.

Hollowed out fiction meets babbling banter. The Natzis and Klan sprinkled in with a Panther.

Gongoozled by ecdysiasts. Eructations of a klutz. Maverick meets nincompoop. A Kate Spade clutch.

A pretentious pettifogger. A decanter of wine. Nocturnal nirvana. Pandiculation devine.

Friday fodder. A lagopodous shrine. Trump is a mugwump. Clinton a canine. 

Descriptive and clutch. Poetic and polite. A three legged crutch. Tonight is the night. 

“Hard writing makes easy reading”

“When you wish to instruct, be brief; that men’s minds take in quickly what you say, learn its lesson, and retain it faithfully. Every word that is unnecessary only pours over the side of a brimming mind.”

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”

“The finest language is mostly made up of simple in imposing words.”

Perusing The Perimeter

Dancing in the sheets. Lusting in the wind. The sun has fallen. Class is about to begin.

Coddling confidence. Sharpening tack. Rewinding ignorance. Blind as a bat.

Take all of your exaustion. Spill some blood, sweat and tears. Focus before you get lost in what you have most grown to fear.

Chameleons in cahoots. A reason not to poot. Akin to skydiving without packing a chute.

One foot in the box. Two toes on the line. Three times three should equal 9, most of the time.

Subtly spoken. Educationally equipped. A glass of bourbon. He only likes to sip.

Madlessly mischievous. Marvelously mundane. Mentally muddled. Idiotically insane.

No rhyme. No rhythm. Time to realign my thoughts. A line. A trigger. Questions being sought. 

Questions being sought. Nerves being nipped. A step closer for nought. Emotionally unequipped.

Radically random. Tubular to the core. How are you trying to win if you have yet to score?

One day closer. One day further. It’s poetic paradox. 
“In solitude we are least alone.”