I stumble to the wall
with a half-awake gait,
then I fumble and find
the light switch.
It's time to go
for that much-needed pee.
It happens every night
as I wish other things would, too.
Why cannot what I desire
be as inescapable?
Living alone cuts off
the possibilities of things
that once would have been probabilities.
Even inevitabilities.
(18 August 2026)
From a Happening Bar
Staggered into his car
And after forty miles
Still rich in The Saved’s Smiles,
As he foully staggered out…
Against huge hopes of a lout
Of a crashing incident
If not a killing accident…
A character people hyped:
A wrong name on the lists typed;
One needing to stand erect
Allowed ‘Star who’d direct’;
Just the magical result
That denies The Due insult…
Who has Charles overrated
And gifts exaggerated
And speed accelerated?
Just A Power over Beer
And maker of lingered leer
Eagle-Rare is The Union,
All her members’ arms pinion,
Not with a from-behind arm twist
But thrills that can dare a long list …
You join her you pray to not leave,
You indiscreetly go ahead to leave,
You never cease to piteously grieve
Or emotive sighs endlessly heave.
But please, in the open say it not:
Still on her white sheet parades a blot
And lives with a touchable problem
Singularly bought her by her cultist emblem:
A pair of squinted eyes,
Whose owners’ broad smiles are lies;
And teeth that can one stagger
Farther than an Arab’s Dagger …
And Alakara isn’t bothered about it,
Wherefore many think it is her dug pit!
Man, I understand,
Many can’t falsehood withstand,
The rationale for it confusing,
And a precious idea start refusing …
But grab, I promise you the calming details;
One should know what a thing entails …
Please, it’s all about a step moving in exaggeration,
To what actually happened, a slight recreation.
Claims that the jabbing finger was a pen knife,
That luckily couldn’t claim your life:
The knife that later attacked you, a dagger,
That offered onlookers a classic stagger!
For your story I shall pay a willing dollar,
Never to adjust a regretting collar.
If for information you should press,
I belong to the Sensational Press.
In your bosom concealed, you are a fighter:
Who doesn’t a single matter take lighter;
The closest chap to you making a big mistake,
As you wouldn’t care what it‘d take
Inside your bag, some folk is about to drop dead
Like some hapless character in novels read:
A murderous slashing of his windpipe
Or a jugular discharging services of the same type.
Soon traced to you, sun handcuffed,
A strong belief you should be in a prison overstaffed;
In others a polite advice to you by the police
To go and hire a very smart lawyer
Be you Humphrey, Allen or Eunice
Or for that matter Tom Sawyer…
Unless it didn’t land –a dagger
Even bloodless angels would stagger!
Bragger Who Would Stagger
Total amount of sins was enough to stagger;
About them Trump was boaster and bragger;
Publicly profane;
Hard to explain;
Destined for disaster yet he still did swagger.
Jim Horn
Walking, I stagger
Lying down, I sink
Running, I fall
In silence, I think
I think, therefore I ain't
Always a sinner,
Never a saint
Never a winner
A picture with no paint
Flat, white, cold and bare
Point at me standing here
No expression, no hope
A poison with no antidote
Tickle my fancy, please do
Color me any shade of blue
Broken and bruised
Make me your pain
Walk away from me
But come back again
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