Two Chairs

If I look sad, that was my childhood.
If I look happy, it's an accident. 

Sit on that kitchen chair.
Don't fiddle with the vinyl. 
It keeps the stuffing in.
The masking tape is final.

Pull up a cheer while I table my thoughts.
Stifle that yawn while I wrangle my doubts.

The thing about this place is its wine-soaked darkness.
Repellent service. Empty rooms. The sticky carpets.

Let's drink to the morning and through the afternoon.

Let's remember years past 

And the shadows we cast.

Existential Gripe Number 12

Waking on the sofa, first thought is death
and clocks ticking.
Product placement, lets me breathe
and persuades me.

While the logo spins and the
graphic flies in and the man speaks
softly of serious grime -
I can continue.

While there's lite there's hope.

KEEP YOUR BLOOD INSIDE

Cutting heavy card with a blunt blade.

Slipping and scoring the back of my hand.

Nicking a vein and seeing the blood

Bubble and seep in a rivulet

Between the knuckle and into the air.

2009

2009, it has a fine ring.
Even before it’s done a thing.
With a crash of a symbol
And a flail of a wing
The white dove of peace
Will attempt to sing –

You motherf***ers are choking me!
You motherf***ers are choking me!
You motherf***ers are choking me!

And I haven’t got home from my
New Year’s Party, yet, you w**kers.

Lep Loney

DATAMAN 1979

The stars at night,
blaze deep and white,
deep in the heart of
Texas Instrument's
Dataman.

It's 1979.
And I got the data,
man.

Let it bleed, Dataman,

The Rockford Files

"This is Jim Rockford. At the tone, leave your

name and message - I'll get back to you."

“Hey there, Jimmy, this is Lep.

Me and the guys are having a poker night,

Tuesday.

We’ll bring the beer and the processed

meat platter and the wheel of cheese -

you bring a big bucket of Nostalgia and

a side-order of ‘slaw.

My 1970s childhood, thanks you.”

The Sturgeon Falls

We traverse the ice-sheet,
crack a hole with a mallet,
and wait for the wiley sturgeon.

The lure of the caviar beckons,
the ancient greed must be slaked.

Our frozen heart beat quickens,
in dying trees by the icy lake.