A Day in the Life

Today trudges round the clock, another 24 hours plop in ticks inside a bucket

Outside it glows orange, bundled bodies trek inside the armor of their parkas.

Squinting eyes wish their glimpse was caught in a different shade

A line of two antsy riders can’t wait to board the warmth of CTA

The first turned back to re-scan his pass – much to the other one’s dismay.

The bus moves with a tug, a sound of effort, and it exits.

CNN is suicidal as it flashes clips hanging from the ceiling

Sound of a bell signifies an entrance, followed by a greeting.

On the corner is a gal smiling at a guy who apparently she’s meeting.









A Rumination

The imagination, it’s a hell of a thing

I pitch without a hitch

and sell myself the dream.

Ease is with what I produce a path to letdowns

Let down but it is my fault ultimately

Self-swindled without a flame to be rekindled

This is either all too complex or pathetically simple.

Keep fantasies in the medicine cabinet

Medicine in my gut at all times

Like the mind, I can’t see physically my wants

Disoriented thoughts, yes those –

race and run the gauntlet.

I’m like winter mixed with spring

I like my fruit forbidden

I’m like nothing mixed with something

Stranded, harping hard on how it was to once be driven.

Some would say I’m “tripping”

I am tripping, truly

I was riffing – cruelly

Some would say I’m “tripping”

Me? I have no comment

Precisely, I could not state my intentions.

Loosely, there’s a chance I can speak sharply on my actions.

This is life and opportunities are passing me

They pass me with no waving, I look on like I’m forsaken.

But pity from the self, it has yet to help me

I have optimism somewhere

It’s tough to see

You see, it’s stealthy.

Indeed, someone will always have it worse than you, worse than I

Yet that knowledge is no killer and our hurt survives

What can I do? But spin a new narrative, try a new thing

Hope my next dream is no illusion,

and if I’m wrong – try again
















She is Me

She is me

But with more leverage.

She is me during that one day.

She is me 

But she’s not waiting for me on Sundays.

She is me but with a better life.

She is on the cover of She Wants Revenge

Debut album with a shiny knife.

She really is me.

It’s no longer a mystery.

She is me

But of a different gender.

Why did I offend her?

She is me 

When I sat there smiling 

She is me

But there are more inhabitants on her island.

She is me, she really is me

It’s no longer a mystery.

She is me 

But just a little older 

She is me but with a colder shoulder 

She is me 

With a little more subtlety

And yes, that troubles me

I am her

When she didn’t know what to think 

I am her 

But I do more than drink

I am really her 

I always wondered: Was she really hurt? 

I am her 

But they call me “sir”

I am her 

When told that she misread my words

I am her, I really am

I am her but with a weaker plan 

I Don’t Know

I could never type poetically.

I pace to the left then back to the right – I’m a pacer.

Suspicious…hmm…everything’s suspicious

Why did so-and-so make such-and-such decision?

I’m reminiscing about a rumination I had months ago while pacing

If I had to define music

I would say it is an emotional conduit.

I have a cockamamie theory

Please don’t demand of me to prove it.








I Hate Thanksgiving – BayArt

Fuck Thanksgiving

My life sucks, everything sucks

My social life is almost non-existent at best

And I’m running out of recreational meds.

This shit is the worst

I don’t think there is a worser life

But I could be wrong

I remember when I was a kid

I used to smell my aunt’s thongs (Tia Mirtha’s)

I hate thanksgiving

I hate holidays, they mean nothing to me now

Like birthdays – they mean nothing to me now

Everything means nothing to me now

I hate Thanksgiving

Source: I Hate Thanksgiving – BayArt

* At the end of the day I must confess I am grateful