Humbled

Let loose the hounds to slaughter this untested flesh
Tear apart the softness of this base thing
enshrouded in the warm comfort of the peace I've drawn about myself
as I've drawn and quartered the remains of what visions I had left
My vessel has run aground in a shore of molasses
too thick to navigate, too sweet to encourage want of leave
I've replicated the paragons I worship half-heartedly and piecemeal
with triteness deserving of the harshest punishments
What mockeries I make of the true, radiant genius
of all the dead saints embalmed in history's mistakes
to casually seek fame and fortune as a peacock would spread its feathers

Happy Birthday

Happy birthday
You're one year older
Than your last birthday
And not much has changed
Keep sitting on those hands
Let the time tick by
Let the seconds stack up
To build towers of the years
You did nothing
Right up to your last breath
And while you're on this side of Now
Looking over the chasm to Then
Thinking you have a long way to go
There's already a man
On the other side of Then
Looking back over the chasm to the kid
On this side of Now
Wishing he could have just one more try
To get it right
Before the end

Real Estate Agent, II

The cuffs of his sleeves are frayed
at the wrists ever so subtly
you’d have to be staring to notice

The blue tips of his collar,
eroded by countless wash cycles
and pealed by perm press,
expose cotton ends
sheepishly peeking out from
their starched shelters

He’s very thankful that you’ll never see
the holes in his socks and the
worn bands of his underwear
because appearances mean everything
no matter how hard he works

Though his pants keep panting
and his heels need healing,
he still wants to win