Bento Life

It’s a life of tiny shards, make it pretty.
Meat, rice, vegetables, fish, sugar, spice.
Everything and nothing is nice.
The culmination inside another wistful dream.
Compartmentalized for a fleeting moment.
Consumed like fire in a pit.
Corrugated cardboard container.
Sectioned off and in manageable pieces.
Been ready to walk the road for years.
Should have turned left at that last fork.
Coasting through the journey,
asking the wrong questions,
Getting the right answers.
Every ounce of me bleeds “no”
The volume on the radio is at eleven.
You can’t hear me anymore.
I can’t hear me anymore.
Lost in the maze of sharp corners,
Misspelled phrases, and flat tires.
Eat the orange smile, and slog through.
That’s all I can do.


Home is where the fences are cinder blocks,
radiating heat well into the night.
Home is where the shit on the street
is from ornamental plums,
and not migrating ducks and geese.
Home is knowing where the garlic salt is
in the kitchen.
Home is where your dog is.
Home is waking up to the sun everyday,
10 months out of the year.
Home is walking out to your car,
covered in a thin coat of dust.
Home is moving your joints,
and not hearing them crack,
because humidity.
Every day is a new day.
I have been craving this adventure.
I earned my stripes.
The ride is bumpy, and I’m wearing a helmet.
I got it good. For now.
But sometimes, when you’re feeling so far removed,
when you hear a noise that doesn’t sound right,
you want to be home.

Get Off My Lawn

The chanting chafes, birthing China in the confines of my skull.
Men, dressed in indiscriminate suits, roam the floor.
Big Brother is watching you.
Crinoline, tutus, flora, plastic bracelets,
signifying their need to belong to something
Greater than themselves.
To believe that the steps we make in life
Are worth the culture of melodic anonymity.
Youthful colours anticipate the bass,
pound out a privileged aggression
What is life but the next bottled spirit?
Tripping on legal and illegal pharmaceuticals
But I don’t judge.
Echoing screams, shake what your mama gave you
I rise above, beyond, below these definitions of society
This bootleg version of true electricity
Brings death and destruction wherever it goes.
Four horsemen will not usher in the apocalypse;
Three letters will.