Short Lubrication Poems

Subjects Of Time
As a fine clock
Run by motion of the earth,
We are masters of 
Gears and lubrication
Though remain 
The subjects of time…....

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Faith

I didn't cry
but I couldn't keep
the lubrication in my eyes,
such precious water in a dry time,

when they prayed 
for the children
that the world 
will protect them

and all the
other people's children 
passed with their teachers 
along the aisle.

It felt I was a thread 
in a great soft quilt,
like the one adorning
the gathering space....

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We are what we are
or are we?
what if we are not
like a drought
like a fish on a bike
like a fleeting thought
like a drain plug
where water never flows
like lubrication
for non moving parts
like a door to nowhere
in the middle of it (nowhere)
like this poem
going nowhere
but here it is now
like the thunder in the sky
and we are
what we are....

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Dry skin caused by frozen winter winds
Caused by over washing
Too much caution given to cleanliness
The rough ridges distinctly defined
Will soon go away with care and time
These epidermal deserts
Are greatly in need of an oasis
Some lotion for lubrication
To make the redness in the deserts turn to tan
And now I wonder, why?
Why am I writing about my hands?...

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Ratchet Gentrification 
Sneaky Dislocation 
A People Sank Deeper Into An Abyss of Desperation 
No Lubrication....
In Summation....
Screwed... 
Without Consideration
of The Deprivation of Unaffordable Habitation 
Nostalgic Disintegration 
Of Memories Nesting in the hearts of Generations 
Shameful Demonstration of Humanity...
Straight up Insanity...
Sad to Say
Failure to Realize Damage Done Today...
Create a Price Future Offspring Will Pay.......

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Floating gentle on the wave
only felt within the brain
hidden from the sight of those
wondering why the need exists

a delightful fuzz that consumes
agitation of the mood
always there beyond the veil
responsibility that must prevail

damning all to turn the wheels
creating thirsts of the soul
asking lubrication to extend
to the balm of troubled woes

a comfortable numb with regard
for the depths of agony
escaped at last in the waves
dependence spun from craving’s needs....

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