Perpendicular

I’ve wallowed in filth the pretentious can’t bear
and swallowed the shit no elitist would dare
I’m one with the creature that crouches within
who’s done what he must, though they label it sin.

I’ve curbed my ambition – for what is the use?
Disturbed by the angle of those more obtuse
I’ll lurk in the corner where everything’s right
a smirk on my face more bemusement than spite.

Continuum?

I really hate
to calculate
the distance that’s between us
there seems to be
a galaxy
dividing Mars and Venus
and no degree
of astronomy
will cancel out compunction
so two stray spheres
can cross light years
and once more form conjunction.

Clearing

The only bond I seek
is with the world I tread
a haven for the weak
that huddle up in dread
when those in ‘power’ speak—

I’d rather run instead
through fields beside a creek
where no one else has fled
or voiced their mindless shriek
to soothe my aching head

and maybe try to eke
a living less misled
beneath a soaring peak
existing on the bread
that’s poison to the meek.

Seasons

The thyme has withered away
the leaves are limp and gray
there is no hint of fragrant spice
embellishing today

nor zest enough to entice
acceptance of the price
required to enjoy a taste
of fabled paradise,

instead we’re gluttons for haste
our dreams can be replaced
just stack them there, out of the way
with all the other waste.

It’s saddening to say
but silence won’t delay
the barrenness of every plot
when time has withered away.