La Isla

Dirt accumulates on my lack of production

reasoning boils down to

a simple career path that allows for plenty of free time in which I can chase my passion unencumbered by the emotional baggage of a job I didn't care about in the first place.

Have you ever seen a pool of resumes?

What sets apart the final applicants?

Is it heart, soul, passion?

Or is it cleverly placed buzzwords, well placed emboldened text, and enough enticing information to comfortably fit on one page.

If I only I could transform my passion into productivity.

If only I could teach myself the secret to making a fortune overnight.

If only I could have a boat and a bottomless expense account and make my business contacts in the sleepy pier towns that smell of rum and fruits I've never seen before. 

Ribbon Soles

Normally speaking

I'm a natural talker

but naturally speaking

is normally 

rather difficult

Modern Times

Pageviews

The statistics of my Nightmares

The true lack of impression

Is daunting

Resolutions for 2024

If only

I had an utter lack of consequence and a shiny piece of plastic with my name etched in silver letters

If only 

I could calmly face the fact that the facts I'm facing are open to interpretation

If only 

my shiny apple-embossed computer had a little bit more ram

...

Multi-tasking would be a breeze

...

Life would be reminiscent of the ripest mango on the tree

...

If only

Floral Blankets

Currently my love and I

are 5 feet apart

eye

Write 

My love 

Sleeps

You See 

I am a night person

And her eyes sparkle in the morning

Around 6 AM

to

Be

Exact

Begrudgingly we succumb 

To each others habits

For the joy

of company

and a warm

hand

to 

hold

With Tired Eyes

we laugh the nights

Away

and with heavy hands

we greet the morning

and the cold cold

water 

of the

mountains

I never asked for this

But 

I got 

Lucky

Probelike

 The self-anointed self seated on a high horse

Holding tight to the barricades that

Once were

Strong

Is now nothing more than a rag-tag butter muffin selling pink strings of sugar at

The local carnival

Teary eyed with a painted smile

Optimistic with a hint of liquor

The smell of spirits

Rises

….

He glares at the children

And their

Sweat stained shirts

….

Leers at the lovers

With their

Tangle of fingers

….

Scowls at the proud parents

And their

Ever-watchful eyes

…. 

The smoke in the air hangs thick

A blanket of humidity

Envelops the fair ground

As the self-anointed self

Struggles less and less convincingly

Against the maudlin residue

That is caked on every corner of its existence

Thick and all encompassing

There is no room to wiggle

No room to squirm

Career day

I don’t understand why

 we're all

 expected

 to sell our time

 at a discount price

 so the 

asshole 

above us 

can drive a nice car