In Depression’s Grip

I wouldn’t say imagination,

instead, a spiral of twisting metal,

cracked concrete well below,

the shavings of slivers and dust where the legs go.

A night sky that looms in sunlight,

clouded thinking,

to the degree of a natural flight,

over here, this time, that afternoon, one year

in my life.

I sometimes want to cry,

cleanse the rings of deceit around my eyes,

then it’ll be okay.

Though that song plays out its course,

like a top 40

I tire of hoping for predictability

shed some light on

what the hell is the matter with me.

A rant,

is an opportunity,

if we can remove ourselves from


I remember the time I was told to stop boring people

with sad old cliches.

It worked,

I no longer use cliches.

I wonder about tomorrow

as fatigue melts away my desire to go away.


Ordinary People

I saw them today,

on the street corner,

standing together,

holding hands in smile,

then the bus came,

and they were gone.


While I was driving home,

the light changed to red,

glancing aside, they were

chatting in animated form,

I wanted to say hello,

just then the light …


At night, I sit amongst them

each with their own desire,

maybe not the same as mine,

somehow still in the same place

I think the notions are similar,

this place is not our home.


We see throngs flock outside

all the many believers

they do exist, some tell me,

when the lights go out,

they all seem to want,

somehow the same thing.


I wander throughout my day,

and look upon the world

around me, all caught up

in some new fad, a dance

of circumstance, masks the

ordinary people we care to be.