You had One Job

Based on the job description
there need to be some schedule changes, the portions are all out of proportion.
We must streamline life's overall efficiency, i.e.
how we are spending our time seems an exercise in futility, blowing over(most peoples)head
in exhaustive fumes like labor and toil makes ones blood boil to look back at one year of cleaning, three years of laundry and eleven, not seven years sentenced to watching others peoples made up fantasies, aka TV, do you see-
how much wasted energy this job entails
Five months of complaining curtails job satisfaction and the distraction of sleeping for twenty-six years not to mention the inaction of traffic for eight more hours-
We must smell more flowers along the way and tell the staff to laugh for more than one-hundred and fifteen days.
Anyways, four and a half days of eating is sufficient, and walking around the world four times seems efficient enough to get a good view, but who knew women would waver for one year over what to wear, who cares?
I dare say this sounds crazy,
I must admit
this profession is not for me
Why
Any way you slice it,
I think I'd rather eat pie.




Image By Kate Greenaway (1846-1901) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.


Fun Pie Flavors:
Cracked

Falling Behind

Behind the door

A rectangle creamy cloth covered pin board crisscrossed with pearl ribbon and shell buttons strewn across convergence points lay fading photos of various sizes.

Behind the door, you see

Not all happy frozen faces and various scenic places. You see a pin stuck in.

Behind the door you see a red pin-

That says ‘I am loved’-it was never yours, but you keep it anyway.

Behind the door, the 9 pictures show 3 of a boy, 2 of a baby girl, a sleeping cat, a couple, a pair

Behind the door,

Two postcards, both with boats act as if they were there, as pictured. They were not. Nor were you.

Behind the door,

A memory board hides of someone’s life as though it were yours collaged with fragments of other particles collided that were made of you and them before annihilating solidly into new matter, put this way, in this structure, pinned in place

Behind the door, Lies

closed. 

You cannot picture it. 

Image of painting by Cornelis Norbertus Gysbrechts (fl. 1660–1683) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

All for me

Nel mezzo de camin-
At forty, which is half
Eighty degrees and not May
Fifty foot faces found me
Titanic and romantic
pom-pom pear blossoms sunny Carolina jessamine,
a poetic play (on words), an artistic triptych (on walls),
library lingering and lofty expectations for the big reveal, an hour to heal-
books, books, books, books,
in the mail every day without fail
around
my birthday
a bright star dies this very day
right before my eyes and I could say
I see and count
all the numerous ways
life loves me back (mostly
only) on my birthdays.




Image by Witold Pruszkowski, 1884 Falling Star, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A hermit in the heavenly hills

If I had my choice of two places, here and there,
I would find a small little crevice somewhere in between with a view far removed from all possible social interaction as though no place and everywhere and I could watch over and pretend I know the lines as though vicariously living as any one of those colorful caricatures playing life on the center stage-
If I had an twinge, a pang of sentimentality that one felt lonely for other human beings-
I could entertain nature everywhere, intentionally and extensionally and in every welcome space and every shapely mood, color, flavor, scent, temperature and do nothing but interpret and create, contemplate and disperse, make myself realize what I need to actualize for others out there and expel whatever it is I'm trying to tell infinitely catch and release, spinning my tales wildly with embroidered ideas and a flowing spring of hot creative juices that buzz with light and cool electricity for good conduct and I know it can be done by experience and exertion of will-
wait, isn't that what (a) god did?

No, I am no hermit or prophet, saint or sinner, I do not hide, but openly reside on the outside looking grim-but neither do I hide that I do not derive much pleasure from other pseudo-peopled predicaments and superficial social situations, too long is too much and talk is too small to hear any value worth that heartbeat just wasted on wispy vapid vocalizations, erstwhile, some stimulants are to be stoked and ignited, brightened into clarity by enhancing images of what you wish to be, look closely, don't tell, pleasure is an opportunity for silence and relishing the company of someone who understands your thoughts, only like you...
Reading you like a fairytale book, the ending amoral conjecture to put you back in your proper place, perplexed and planted, rooted in dis-content, too close to others for their own myopia, recycled carbon canary with nary a note to echo a name, such a short trip, there's no time for shame.

Ganesha in Blue (Jeans)

I don't know how many times since then I've said, I Guess I'll wear jeans, again.

To school?! My grandmother would screech. It became part of my vernacular.

A girl of 14 never forgets the first nice thing a boy says to her.
Matt D. told me,
as we passed for Silent Sustained Reading Class
that I looked good in blue jeans.

They were the expensive Guess, I remember,
with the zippers on the outsides of the ankles so rich kids didn't have to peg-huh?

My other grandmother bought them for me. I begged. She couldn't afford to say no to an only child.

The boy, Matt, was nervous and hesitated-more than once-even though I smiled nicely.

All 14-year-old women hate their bodies,
because of betrayal,
because they don't fit
anymore
anywhere
between
in.

Even now, blue jeans fit me to a T.
And I think he was right all along.

And I wonder
what would be the overall outcome, continual consequence, everlasting effect, chain reaction, spin-off-
if one brave honest boy told every shy unsure girl her genius was showing
and it fit her to a T,
that would be nice.




Image By Alanna_Kolette,_Miss_HIN_2009_midriff.jpg: Mark Sebastian from San Jose (Alanna_Kolette,_Miss_HIN_2009_midriff.jpg) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.