Hypotheticals

And how do I tell you
That you thought wrong
That the world wasn’t round
But a flatland that drips guilt
And conceit and warmth?
 
 
And what if I told you
That people are neither right or wrong
But tangents of others in times forgone?

Summer Rendezvous

Magenta, like the taste of your lips against mine

The blurring of the galaxy as our limbs intertwined.

Whiskey, like the summer sunsets we had by the lake

Where we skinny-dipped and I almost broke my spine.

Subdued, like when the tide is on the ebb

How we sat out like fowl, watching Helios and Selene align.

Vermicular, like the perforations on fancy cigarette filters

And the state of my feelings attempting a line.

Kismet

Kismet,
Like the immutable tittering of the wind over the ocean
And the intractable essence of man himself
Always finds its way,

Unlike fate or destiny
You shape it mediocrely, unknowingly,
Releasing it upwards into non-existence
Hoping that maybe someday-
One day,
When it descends
To discombobulate your every circumstance
You barely even feel it.

Señora Garza

“Señora Garza!”
He screeched back into the kitchen
With his gaze set fast on the television.
And the mute Señora Garza shuffled out
Wrinkles intact
Her withered hands moulded through countless years
And meal preparation.
She smiled a modest smile
Spotted and patched with gaps
And though her body wilted
Her vitality was sound.
And let me tell you
That I’ve never had a burrito
That fucking big
Or that fucking good
For the rest of my life.
If not for Señora Garza
I’d probably think twice;
Go round the corner
Where they hire models
To make half-assed meals,
And I could pretend.

Dichotomy

And do you not venture

In places that you’re not supposed to?

The thrill restricted,

Like pain I’ve inflicted.

 

And had I not told you

The horizon was where the world ended-

Would it have irked you enough

To find out on your own?

Chance Encounters

In what felt like eternity, Rick wooed Julie that night in his stupor, making her promise to come back to see him. She too, not fully aware of the otherworldliness that whiskey is known to bring with it, took his hand, soul and mind, forever stealing his thoughts and desires for herself. They teased and tittered into the night, and he stayed by her side till the morning under a Eucalyptus tree that couldn’t mask her scent at all. If it wasn’t for the rotation of the Earth, they would have been lost in their dark seclusion for a moment yet again. But the sun rose, the world resumed its state of nature and Julie’s bus left ten minutes before eight.

Stick It To The Man

At 70, he was a man who wrote cheesy love songs.
He would play at ratty children’s birthday parties,
For cash-ridden couples and homeless romantics.
And every Monday for forty-five years
He would make his way down to the bar.
With his guitar slung tightly at open-mic, he would point to the young men and say,
“I hope this never happens to you
Though I’m sure it probably will.”
Then he’d smile for a while from cheek to cheek
As if it were a different time.

The Giants Might Kill Us Some Day

Between tolls of knolls and mighty terrain

There’s a hundred thousand giants asleep,

They wake up sometimes and move shit around

So trekking is a hassle,

They look like life and death and fear

Depending on weight and size,

On Sundays and Thursdays they roll down boulders

From atop the hill to the village.

 
We know they are there

And will be for years

Increasing in terms of matter,

We don’t mention them much

On days of joy

And on days we have fairer weather.