Short Lockstep Poems

A Mind Portrait of Myself
Written: by Tom Wright
5/10/2016

My mind is an art gallery of self portraits 
Which have moved in lockstep with time.

There hangs one, of a child,
Another of who he desired to become.

Perhaps others interpret these portraits differently
Today, a mirror reveals my true portrait 
An image of the man I am.
...

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The Rusty Years
Written: by Tom Wright
March 2015

I sit submerged in my thoughts,
Once again, lost in my yesterdays;
Focused on the man I was, rather than the man I am.
The problem isn’t the changing of those around me,
But that I have endeavored to remain the same.
And time is in lockstep with me as I age each day.
Time is the combatant of all good things.
...

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polydactyl fractals
and digital manipulation
like "fat fingers"
pushing "astroturf" clods
and "usefull idiots" onto the street
into the traffic
goose stepping in lockstep
against what they're for
    unaware
their prophets decrying profits
(historically elite)
the politburo oligarchy
with power
from the barrel of a gun
and needing Adam Smith
  to eat
but oh well
what's a few hundred million
    citizens
  between fiends?...

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Me
Written: by: Tom Wright
5/8/99

Webs of deceit "Me" does weave
"Me" gets his way while others grieve.

"Me" appears void of all understanding
The more we do, the more "Me” is demanding.

Quickstep world, to "Me” is drumbeat today
There's a right way, a wrong way, and "Me” is way.

Tell "Me" another logical way to be
other than in lockstep with "Me"?

"Me" finds no I in TEAM you see
But correctly spelled would be teaME.
...

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Conceived of wool and birthed Siamese
In grand factories by hands unheard.
My socks move into separate drawers
Like orphaned siblings.

Soon
Each of my six pairs are strangers
that move in perfect lockstep
inside loafers in offices, brogues in churches and Chucks in clubs.
Then—

For nights’ sakes, on the floor;
Rolled rainbows of imperfect donuts.
Who thinks of unmatched socks 
while he sucks in his gut to be a body stacked atop another,
to love?...

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