Long Payroll Poems
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Mind and time
Is it true? That the relief you feel is just a ghost? That the hand you hold is just your own. Your fear of life is just alone, the abyss of your eyes never meet the same. You've put your light out and relight it, this cycle continues and you havent a clue. You cant be afraid of life and tell the truth, you're self aware but to whom? You tell ones who are paid to listen, but not the whole truth.
Not the burning church with the laughter and the cheers, Both smiles in your eyes and freedom from your mouth, you hear the worries but no ones reacting, you need to relax. Take a moment and breath, whom are you talking to? I see her and I feel her, even when had breath she wouldnt give you CPR! Why would you care about the skin of the being whose life was never aimd at you for an audience!? Another Christmas, new year, valentines with the cat.
The only significants in which the lines havent blurred, Are you really doing that again!? Its not even Thanksgiving yet. What day is it? Does that matter? Do you have somewhere to be? Oh right appointments, such a rich and fulfilling life you have.... you know if you don't want to be apart of this then their are meds to- wait! What day is it? Why is it sun outside? Why are there fireworks? What day is it?! Why? Why does that matter? Has there been an emergency?! If so what the hell are you going to do?
The new teammate on the payroll will put you on so many things youre going to be in a box drooling. No! What!? I said NO! I know what day it is! I know what time it is and you have flown so close to the sun that your wings are clip! Youll be back at step one soon! No! I won't! And if I slip I still have my calendar and my clock!
Soft and filled with petals of roses,
I’m dizzy as lingerie falls to the floor.
One door opens as the other closes,
delighted now I am free to explore.
Silk sheet origami such sensual art.
Let us disrupt it, take off my dress.
Are you ready for heat sweetheart?
I already feel more than a little listless.
So gentle yet hard on my insides,
your mouth on my neck I may retch.
An internal flame full of elevated tides,
we’re a vision I could never sketch.
Allowing my silence to take control,
something only you could teach me.
I swore my pen wasn’t on your payroll.
I’m left to give up, give in completely.
Internal debate whether I can stand,
as I fight with falling so hard for you.
Possessing a T.K.O with your left hand,
I’m out cold a victim of our rendezvous.
the scene
(the Well Groomed Malo Figurious) they offerd this special deal.
It came with exciting features.. The bells and whisles
made the whole thing worth affording.
we fit it into the budget.
( THE Intergalactic Figurious) what did the person say about the program and how well
he say we put software
in tv screen computer, and program
will control temperature, ice machine,
and open doors, and all systems within building.
well we install system and loss everything.
when Picco start system all money in bank go puff!
the orders online deleivered only half.
old girls on payroll get
bounus,Picco no give'em bounus!
machine got
Anti- Investment software.
Then that's when the monster came.
Picco get scared and call
Intergalactic force.
Driving home in the dark
telegraph poles like a thousand crucifix's line my road.
Winding lanes leading home, but my life going nowhere.
Just a number on a plc payroll.
I'm just waiting to find out what will kill me.
There's no escape victim or violator we all die
slave to commerce.Can you live without it !.
My two up two down world
My body clock ticking down
Was I born or manufactured for some company's gain
A florescent light replaces my sun
and I talk, at the sound of call centre bleep
I'm no free man, a paid slave
not even human to the management crew
just another victim of corporate greed
to be tossed aside as my child takes my seat
on this cruel roller coaster ride
CALLED LIFE
comp entered 12/09
Two men were murdered in the Massachusetts town of Braintree.
They were Frederick Parmenter and Alessandro Berardelli.
Both were employees of the Slater-Morrill Shoe Factory.
The culpable individuals absconded with payroll money.
Two followers of the infamous anarchist Luigi Galleani
were immigrants Nicola Sacco and Bartolommeo Vanzetti.
Neither had police records, but espoused militant anarchy.
Both were connected to the Braintree murders circumstantially.
The two arrested men became world centers of controversy.
The first trial was filled with questionable testimony.
There were numerous requests from all over for clemency.
After two trials, the defendants were found guilty.
The twenty-second of August in 1927 was their last day.
Controversy about their involvements persists up to today.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
I sat with the plant leaf again,
its veins straighter than mine.
The bus ride had ended. Manila steamed.
My shirt, still full of your smell,
even though you hadn’t come yet.
The blinds were half-closed
like eyelids in anesthesia—
and I traced shadows with my pen
pretending I was writing payroll,
but it was always a eulogy.
The dust in the corners of the cubicle
was not debris.
It was proof of my stillness.
Proof I had not been seen.
Proof I was human.
Somewhere a neon ad shouted skin whitening,
but I was already transparent.
A ghost who had filled in timesheets
and cried into broken staplers.
You would come one day.
Not as a lover,
but as a mirror
sharp enough
to open the mouth of the soul.
If I had a billion dollars, let me tell you what I would do
I would buy a big enough rope, find Africa, throw it, and then tow it
I would tell the Klu Klux Klan "see that ocean, see that land"
I want you to row it and sow it let me beat you, let me rape you
Let me hang you until your soul escapes you
In the pages of history, I will erase you completely
Then, I will take the credit by using faces of people who look like me
I would put Saddam on my payroll and stop his expansions
I would purchase all of the prisons and turn them into marvelous mansions
I would bring back all of the kings
I would bring back Martin and Elvis too
I would resurrect Bruce Lee and pay him to teach me karate
Japanese, Vietnamese, Siamese, and kung fu
I would pay the sun to only shine over my house
Neither I nor any of my people would ever go without
I would buy back time and make it stop and go for me
Then, I would go back in time and set my people free
I could perform wonderous miracles if I had the money
All of my aspirations explored, logically and methodically
One other is above me
He is the almighty
Him and I are tight you see
He lets no one spite me
He lets no army fight me
Only he is allowed to disagree with me
It is he that has carried my load when my burdens were too heavy to bear
It is he who hath taken my hand and led me through times in despair
It is he that prepares a home for my soul
It is he that is an exception to my payroll
It is he that allowed me to have this fantasy
It is he that brought me back to reality
It is he that has nurtured my spirituality
It is he who feeds me mentally and physically
It is he that keeps me humble and true
Because he knows If I had a billion dollars what I would do
We can go faster if we take the magic bike, Rudolph said.
Santa rolled his eyes and the reindeer’s nose got louder red.
We can get rid of the others on the payroll too.
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Blitzen and Vixen to name a few.
Santa looked at the magic bike. How can if fly far away?
Nothing up my sleeves, Rudolph said. Just trust me, okay?
So Santa signed the contract, and they fired the other deer.
Then he and Rudolph climbed on the bike, full of good cheer.
The bike struggled and stopped and sputtered and kicked.
Santa knew then that he had truly been gloriously tricked.
The other reindeer appeared, and demanded more money.
“As our union rep, they told Rudolph, you are a honey!”
Alistar Brandt led his men up the trail,
the sun high, the sky clear of rain or hail,
across long slopes, beneath mountains rocky,
vultures soaring between the ragged peaks,
behind him rode five members of his gang,
rough-hewn men who the law would love to hang,
but today they looked for a man of old,
who was farming these lands, they had been told.
They came across a cabin on a knoll,
a barn nearby, the spot they had been told,
corral nearby held half a dozen pigs,
nearby grew potatoes you’d have to dig,
between, a well, where a big man did work,
drawing buttons of water from the earth,
his clothes weathered, but his frame just as large
upon which Alistair knew there were scars.
It was their man, named Dan Smith to the world,
was strong enough to lift a steer and hurl,
he’d rode with them until three years ago
when he’d got caught, sentenced to prison’s woes.
He once had called himself Dan the Deadly,
but all had joked, called him Dan the Dummy,
not much for brains, which any man could see,
Alistair doubted he could even read.
His sluggish thoughts had led him into jail,
missed a signal to flee back to the trail,
just stood a fought a posse on his own,
lost to numbers (Though he’d broken some bones!)
But that was why they wanted him today,
to swing big firsts if things should go astray,
and Alistar saw as the big man turned
that on his face the same dumb look was burned.
For a moment Dan just looked on blankly,
then said, “Al, did you come here seeking me?”
Alistair said, “Didn’t come for the view,
and we got a job that might interest you.”
Dan waved his big hand. “Don’t do that no more.
Got a farm and woman I can’t ignore.”
Alistair frowned. “Just hear me out them choose,
this could mean eight thousand dollars for you.
See Red Joe Hayes got himself shot last month,
the one who knocked off that army wagon.
I know ’cause his pard Bill rides with us now,
says Red hid that payroll up near the clouds.
Up in the high country, just north of here,
but others are looking too, it appears.
Near sixty thousand, and you’d get your share,
if you help us fight any fools up there.”
CONTINUES IN PART II.
If true, as anthropologists report,
hide-and-seek entertains children of all languages
and cultural sport
throughout all humanity's extended family history
Might hiding-seeking
ubiquitously regenerate among children
as among haunted-hunting adults?
Gathering food to hide from hunger,
daily plowing for payroll plunder,
postulating procreation,
BusinessAsUsual playfull as workless,
taking turns hiding from gifted godlessness,
trusting divine spirits to continue seeking
my blend-in brand
of common-scented humanity.
While too tribally divine
to attract anthro-privileged notice,
my roommate cat, Simon,
also excels at both hiding and seeking,
terrorizing my unsuspecting shoe laces
as I naively strive to pass him by,
leave him behind,
as if I were in charge of times to hide
and reasons to seek.
Is not all science and life,
adult and childhood,
human natured and Other co-spirited?
Some hybrid hide-body/seek-mind
as marvelous neurosystemic stimuli
for curious re-searching
re-connecting
re-ligioning response
Wondrous where and how
our cat-godesses of destiny
will musingly pounce
Not sure we prefer too soon
over being last to win
such co-redeeming grace,
rejoining conscientific players
of cathartic evermore adventure
Seeing sight
beyond faith-filled hunting
seeking hauntingly contagious
hidden entrance
finding hopeful exit doors.