Sunset, Better Than Fresh

They're blueberries and peaches
Smashed and smeared across the sky
Life can be waiting in effect
While causes are saddled
Bored, you defect 'round the bend
Licking a piece of the horizon
Darting to the land's other end
Firing a harpoon
Then bitterly clasping your hands
They hold only rope burn,
Now you understand
The location of my sweet tooth

Comforting Thoughts

You used to deflect the ground
Like a stone glancing at the bottom of a lake
Like it was just a distraction
Not a destination
Not a destiny
Not to land next to me
But somewhere in that horizon
The one I described with my teasing tosses
Then I cross the bridge of a million losses
Then there I was
And now here you are
Waiting for a sign
To put down the harp
And lay down the tarp
And talk at me
Of crisis,
ledges
Anagnorisis,
edges
And if I wasn't standing here bearing
Only a smock and a smirk staring
Then we'd fall from space, and give no chase
Then we'd have never been built in the first place

It is the necessity of spinning

1

I forgot that
The more holes you have
The less you must
Spinnnnnn...
For people to find you
Just because I am discovered on the walls
Someone's blasting through the sheet rock
Looking for me
I didn't know, so I
Repaired it
Like new

2

Oh... you've been drilling!
I can see it now in your skating path
Behind
The groove gets deeper
As
You get closer
Somewhere jumps too hard
Now you've struck oil
Down the rig
Down the rig
Ridges of sound,
like stairs,
Down the rig
fly by.
Too bad, I
I kinda liked that song

3

A humorous mess,
Life is better with fluids
Ample and exchanged
Borrowed colors that run
Fast
Where will we end up?
Follow the densest smoke
When it expires
You'll nearly be home

Just Breakfast

The phone call came unexpectedly on a Saturday. It was about 9:30 in the morning and Trevor was at the urban farm market. Sort of. Actually he was standing just outside the rows of locally grown produce merchants and waiting in line among the truck-bound vendors of premade food to order a very popular handheld breakfast. The droning sound of the engines competes with the amplified ringing acoustic strums of the hired live entertainment: a nervous doughy songwriter/cover artist with a compressed tenor voice and a discreetly balanced patch of stubble under his burgeoning chin. The carelessly drawn out delivery of the familiar lyrics reveals a sense of vanity and selfishness behind the impulse of falling in love being presented in the songs. Every note is an attempt to sing well beyond his abilities. It seems that he imagines this live performance is being recorded and will eventually be released and held in the same regard as Jeff Buckley's "Live at Sine", except without the untimely drowning. Trevor feels the vibrations on his thigh and as the ring tone fades in he realizes that it was a mistake to leave his phone off silent. His girlfriend Sandra is standing beside him and she is about to be party to a conversation between him and a prospective employer. He is considering ways to avoid this as he alters his stance dramatically for optimum pocket access on his skinny jeans, which fit more tightly around his calves than his waist, so as he reaches in for his phone you can see the top of his buttcrack and imagine how the line withers in its downward procession. He was about to try and use the momentum of shifting his stance to step aside and answer his phone in privacy, but he was positioned right between two signs that read "NO PLACE HOLDING". The phone was halfway through its ring cycle and he took a moment to marvel at the fact that these vendors actually take the time to put up those signs for their traveling meal car. He ponders the causal relationship of those signs advertising their aggressive cue maintenance policy and his 45 minute wait to have a customized breakfast chimichanga. He pretends not to notice the signs, but remains stationary anyway to take the call. He takes out a pen and notepad. It is a phone interview and it won't likely require any note taking, but he knows Sandra will think he is not taking the position seriously if he doesn't at least jot down something. The situation turns out in his favor it seems, as the pressure of the phone interview is completely eclipsed by the looming notion of Sandra's inevitable scrutiny afterwards. He hangs up the phone and tries to say something that will preclude any further interest. "Eh, they wanted to start me out in the call center making less than I am now." Silence. He responds to himself by throwing in some more details, "Yeah that must be why they called me on a Saturday... they wanted me to work the weekend shift..." She responds dryly, "Well whatever, I'm sure something better will come up," then without missing a beat, she changes the subject, "did you see they were selling squash blossoms? I think we should make squash blossom frittata!" Trevor responds carelessly. "Yeah... except we've been waiting in line so long, and I'm curious about this breakfast chimichanga." Sandra is quiet, so Trevor continues, "I've heard you can add up to 9 optional ingredients in addition to the 6 that come standard in each chimichanga." She doesn't share his enthusiasm. "Yeah but so? There is no line over there..." She motions towards the produce vendors with her slender and questionably hairless arm. "We can go back to your place and make a healthy breakfast together!" She lightly bumps her hip against his, causing his knees to unlock so he loses balance for a split second. "Well it won't be breakfast by the time we finish making it! Let's just each get completely different breakfast chimichangas and share them." She gets quiet again for a second. Then without looking at him she asks, "Why don't you want me to cook for you?" This puts him on the defensive. "It's not that I don't want your cooking... I just don't want to spend all day in the kitchen." She instantly retorts, "Why? What do you have planned?" He stares at her blankly. This is all the response she needs, as she speaks words that have clearly been forming in her mind. "You never have the patience to start anything from scratch. You start out with the right intentions, but you always get bored and discouraged by the follow through and take the easy way out. We go to the farm market to buy some fresh local produce and make something, but we beeline straight past all the actual farm stands so we can have something that is already made." Trevor attempts to cut her off, "Actually I have just heard really good things about the chimichanga truck breakfast items and really wanted to try it out. What the hell are you talking about?" His outburst at the end provides more fuel to her frustration. "Don't you dare try to make me sound like I'm crazy! You do this with your job, too! That is why you hold on to this lousy middle management position. They threw you that job because they wanted to keep you around. They promoted you quickly hoping that you wouldn't bother trying to start working for a better company. Who was it that called this morning about the call center job?" He was too punch-drunk to think of anything but the truth. "Platinum Marketing Group." "PMG!? You want to turn down a foot in the door at the largest advertizing company in the city so you can keep making... what, a few hundred dollars a month extra? A thousand? This is exactly what I'm talking about! Here is a job that, yeah, may start out like a demotion from where you currently are... but in like 12 months, 5 years, down the line... you could actually be working to your potential." Trevor's strategy during these arguments is generally to play possum, but he always ends up snapping at some point. "Alright, I get it! Look, I didn't say I was going to turn it down. I just didn't want to deal with your criticism today!" He looks around and says, "I mean seriously, are we actually having this conversation right now, right here?" Sandra has given up searching his eyes for anything comprehensible, so she is blankly staring somewhere near his face. "You are such a pussy! Do you think I enjoy having to confront you like I'm your guidance counselor... like a child about being responsible for your own well-being? I'm just trying to help you get over your myopic point of view that you're just gonna land some dream job from where you are now. And of course as usual you're more concerned with what people think than of actually discussing the issue at hand. Yes, we're having this conversation... right now! In front of all these strangers. So what?" Trevor is gripping at whatever he can find in his defense. "What do you mean 'As usual'? When else am I overly concerned with what others think of me? This is news to me! Why do you always pad your arguments with random unrelated things? And did you really need to throw 'myopic' in there?" Her arms fall to her sides with those last words. "You're such an asshole, I can't deal with this right now. I'm going home." He reaches for her, but she snaps at him, "I'll take the bus." Trevor takes one step... then back into line. He is next, and he orders a very basic chimichanga, which he takes several meek bites of as the hired entertainment adds syncopation to "Danny's Song" by Kenny Loggins and really makes it his own.

Ironic Cupcakes: A Fairy Tale

Yarmond was growing weary of his self-imposed mission, which required many tedious door-to-door interactions while carrying an increasingly cumbersome sack. He was entering the Village of Pattadonna Hill, a sprawling series of uniformly cylindrical cottages with large doors made of chestnut planks and polished brass bolts. It was a prosperous town full of attractive people and vibrant landscape; even the clouds that passed overhead appeared to be sculpted by someone selected through a formal process that involved auditions and stodgy interviews.

The first cottage he visited was eclectic indeed, with statues of feathered beasts indigenous to faraway lands, folky crafts of coloured straw, and water fixtures that require far more than gravity and capillary effects to function. He taps at the door and waits patiently, his eyes lose focus around the brass bolts as he is wading through thoughts far, far away from the improvised yet somehow rehearsed tales he intends to tell. The patriarch of the Narrowmiller family opens the door and Yarmonds words are dripping with presumptions, as these conversations have become so perfunctory and rote that he can almost respond on their behalf. To enter their comfort zone as a stranger who has lost his way, he flatters and describes his first hand experience with the subject matter of their lavish exotic decor during his travels.

There is a reason these compliments of excess are being used. The rulers of this realm, the corrupt and bureaucratic Society of Wizard Overlords, noticed a lack of productivity and sincere motivation among the masses. Due to their relative lack of individual power and freedom, it seems they had given up on the traditional ambitions that the ruling class of wizards benefit from, so people began to keep modest personal goals and spend more time developing a bitter sense of humor to cope with the unbearably harsh realities of being ruled by wizards who, despite being very powerful and wise were prone to scandal. Rather than try to improve their behavior so people would become less jaded, the Society of Wizard Overlords passed a blanket spell that causes anybody who enjoyed an incident of irony to have their household transformed into gourmet cupcakes that feature characteristics that identified them. For instance somebody who was shallow but happy would probably have overly sweetened icing with rainbow sprinkles and extra spongy cake, someone who was prone to holding grudges would have stale icing and bitter fruit filling, someone who was indecisive would be made of marble cake and have one piece of several candy toppings, etc. The wizards found that the citizens were worth more as gourmet cupcakes than as lazy disillusioned workers. Since laughing ironically at failure and hopelessness was no longer an option, people were forced to take life very seriously and put all of their effort into being successful, as success was the only means to happiness.

Having been invited into the Narrowmiller's home for refreshments, Yarmond is asking questions of the young couple that give them the opportunity to express their sincere beliefs on broad social issues and show off their worldly knowledge. After a while he asks them if they want to see a trick. They oblige him, given of course that no irony is involved. Yarmond says it is as straightforward a trick as they have ever seen... and he continues the conversation speaking entirely in titles of books that can be found on the Narrowmiller's shelves. Having been entertained in many similar homes, his choices are flawless. Each sentence is seamless and free flowing; it is as though no matter what question they can think of to ask of him, he can form a response using only titles of various publications found throughout the house. The conversation lasts for hours, until they nearly forget that all he needed were some directions to the best lodging in the area. Eventually he begins his departure pleasantries, and then he asks, "I forget, what were your names?" After an awkward pause, the husband started to speak his name... but the wife interrupts, "Wait... you know every book in our house... but you don't know our names?" At that moment, both were transformed into nearly identical cupcakes. They were made with red velvet cake and had lumps of toffee too large to be melted in the baking process, and the vanilla icing was unable to maintain its intended decorative formation due to all the toppings, which ranged from crumbled chocolates to pan-seared sea bass with capers. Yarmond wrapped them in separate napkins and tossed them into his sack and moved on to the next cottage.

After visiting a few homes, people start to warn others. Once the chain reaction begins, Yarmond's job becomes much easier. People begin arming themselves and dashing through the streets in a panic shouting "LOOK OUT! HE IS USING IRONY!" Then they think about what they are yelling while running around brandishing weapons, and relinquish a smile as they are changed into cupcakes. After the calamity, all Yarmond needs to do is retrieve them.

Of course even when they are an expression of an entire human life, a bag of cupcakes is not worth much to anybody. So why was Yarmond collecting them with such zeal? Not long ago Yarmond was in love with a woman named Miscellanea, and she was congruently in love with him. They spent their days nearly catatonic in amazement of every detail of one another... he of the way her hair felt between the insides of his fingers, her of his lower back and the corners of his eyes... her subtle ways of drawing attention to herself, his neurotic deconstruction of his surroundings... her vulnerability to him despite his flaws, his devotion to her despite all the worry he holds onto. Their state of reverie formed an impenetrable atmosphere, basically a new world outside of the jurisdiction of the Society of Wizard Overlords, who found this world to be threatening. Their world indeed had an actual physical presence, and Yarmond and Miscellanea entered and exited their world many times before they realized it was there. For Miscellanea this presence was a magical enhancement to her life, but for Yarmond it was a source of anxiety. What if it vanishes unexpectedly? What should they do to maintain it so that doesn't happen? What if Miscellanea betrays him? Miscellanea did all she could to reassure him that they were safe as long as the atmosphere was strong, but he was still doubtful and the wizards were aware of this. One day when he was outside of their atmosphere, a representative from the Society of Wizard Overlords wore the guise of a local merchant and invited Yarmond to his shop. After a few glasses of truth potion, masked with the flavor of a bitter local drink, Yarmond opened up about his feelings for Miscellanea, as well as his doubts. The shop was dimly lit and full of dusty lamps and pendants and some more confusing formations of sheet metal. The wizard let him know of a possible solution for his uncertainty. He reached behind him and presented a simple tarnished lantern. "Ignite this lantern with a lock of your lovers hair and speak her name into it. Then think deeply of everything that makes you love her, and when the flame burns out, everything you don't like about her will melt away." Yarmond purchased the lantern without hesitation and decided to use it the following morning.

Now, the Society of Wizard Overlords can't intervene in the lives of the people without an approved cause. They had to give Yarmond two options, and the immoral option, if chosen, justifies commensurate punishment. Yarmond collected a lock of Miscellanea's hair and spoke her name into the ignited lantern, and let his mind indulge in every one of her favorable qualities. After waiting patiently for the fire to burn out, he ran over to Miscellanea's home only to find a crowd had gathered and her roof was missing... along with her. Several passers by said there was a flash of light that projected up to the sky and outwards in all directions, and she was nowhere to be found. Yarmond located the merchant and asked what went wrong. The merchant removed his disguise and explained to Yarmond what he had done. "By using that lantern, you have deconstructed and separated all of Miscellanea's attributes and caused them to be scattered and distributed to every single person throughout the land." Yarmond begged of the wizard to break the spell. He replied, "Well even if I wanted to, I can't go against a decision made by the Society of Wizard Overlords. However, if you can find a way to bring everybody in the world into close proximity, the wizards will consider that deed a form of atonement and retrieve all of her features from the citizens and bring her back.

Yarmond went into hiding for a while and didn't resurface until the cupcake spell was passed, as he saw this as an opportunity: Since there was an element of her in every person in the world, and people were being turned into cupcakes... then the cupcake must contain this essence of her, as well. All he needed to do was make everybody turn into cupcakes, then they would be easy to keep all in one place and present to the wizards. Yarmond was immune to irony because he had lost all joy when Miscellanea vanished... so he could speak and perpetrate all the irony he wanted with complete invincibility.

Yarmond noticed that one of the eclectic cottages in Pattadonna Hill had a flattened pillar, most likely from Village of Blott, where phallic symbols of any kind are banned. This was the final village of his quest, and he soon found himself at the town center reading the engraved pancake-shaped monument to its founders. He was reading the town's slogan: "Hidden in the genius required by necessity are the building blocks of a better future." Nobody in Blott knew what it actually meant, but the words "genius" and "better future" were promising so it stuck. Yarmond knew only the crudest irony wouldn't be lost on these people, and since they wouldn't find any irony in acts of panic the way other towns have, he needed to get everybody in one shot. Fortunately he showed up the day of their monthly town hall meetings, the attendance of which was mandatory for at least one member of every household. The main purpose of these meetings is to debate over the many interpretations of the town slogan, as well as what defines something as phallic. The town has recently banned the usage of nails, so this month's meeting is about whether buildings must be demolished and reconstructed with the use of adhesives and fitted materials in favor of traditional elongated fasteners with an aspect ratio greater than 4:1. Yarmond slowly moved to the front of the room throughout the meeting, then during the open forum he took the podium and suggested that perhaps fasteners with a 4:1 aspect ratio would be acceptable if they were less than 2 inches in length. The suggestion received enthusiastic applause by most in the crowd, but there were several cries of disapproval around the room, the loudest of which was coming from the mayor. Yarmond seized this opportunity and yanked the mayor's pants and drawers down to his ankles, and the entire town turned into cupcakes. Mostly vanilla with bi-colored sprinkles and a plastic garnish.

Now holding the cupcake of every person in the land, Yarmond begins journeying to the Valley of Power find the Society of Wizard Overlords. When he arrived, the unseen wizards opened a portal to a new land where he and Miscellanea can start anew. All he had to do was listen to the wizard's explanation of why they put him through this trial. "We gave you the option to let your love take its natural course... but you chose to turn her into less than a person... you chose to strain out the qualities you found disagreeable. We found this to be unacceptable." Yarmond scratched his head. "Wait... so you're saying that in order to teach me about the value of human life... you made me turn the entire population of this realm into cupcake avatars of themselves?" Then, for the first time since he last saw Miscellanea's wide-eyed smile, Yarmond laughed. He was instantly transformed into a cupcake. After a few moments, Miscellanea materialized inside the bag of cupcakes. The voices of the wizards told her to enter the portal, and she stepped forward to oblige. All memory from her previous life had been wiped clean, but for some reason she wanted to eat the cupcake she found on the ground next to her before she left. It appeared to be chocolate caramel... She brought it up to her lips... and discovered it was made of stone. She tossed it aside and wandered into the new realm.

Walk Through/What are you, Crazy?

Walk through
The inky blue
As though our landing gear is true
The impact is great
When in need of
anticipated repair
Can we continue as cement mixers
Relieving ourselves through eye droppers?

Will these be radiation burns
Or super powers and eternal life?

Have you seen the bottom!!??
Or is this another pane-divided segment
Of glass bottomed eternity?
What do I know of the next room
Aside from which magazines I'd read

The Balance of One Guest

Death from a chandelier mishap,
they were there in the first place.
Who made their decision ----------- (not them)
Who cleans up afterward ----------- (not them)
This was supposed to be a formal ceremony,
This is an options optional zone,
I chose to make dancing
multiple shadows.
The impact of one shadow is muffled
just before it is measured.