Coagulant

Our ancestors sold the future

for convenience. Now,

we waste away,

fighting for peace of mind.

Rubber

I would have rather walked. Despite the early spring chill, I longed for a refreshing hike.

I parked, feeling the tires’ dread an inch from a small grit burn. They needn’t have gone through this existential horror except that I had so many quarters to rid myself of. 

Standing at the roadside, the long–necked animal swallowed my change. It ate eagerly, one by one, and in turn showed all that I was an honest person with no proclivity for petty crime. 

I waited for the meter to down the last coin with a metallic gulp. After it squawked happily, I climbed back behind the wheel and drove home so I could take the walk I desired instead.

Scribd Twofers: A poem and an essay


Art

Shapes in
raw granite, 
a person.
An unaware,
apathetic block-
head
staring blankly 
in the mirror,
hammered and sanded.

From top
to toe, 
mouths run - 
collecting minerals -
dribbling away.
Forward springs life,
etching down
the drain.

Rock chips
stumble over
each other.
Dust finds home
on rough edges - 
inevitably the floor,
cracks in my dry,
clay-soaked hands,
and cloth folds  
wherever paint
doesn’t already cling. 

The eyes:
pained,
long set.
A muscular beauty,
the rest,
one casual greeting 
at a time.

In and out
of days,
nights fitting
somewhere between, 
apparently. 
I work.