expiration date(s)

we’re all jugs of milk,

spoiling from the inside out,

no set expiration,

but soured nonetheless,

and this leads to thoughts,

such inquisitive, pressing thoughts,

swarming in the curdled brains,

that ask why? why? and why? again,

why life is unfair,

why life is unjust,

and the only answer,

the only answer that makes sense,

is to live the best life you know how,

do what makes you happiest,

because in the end,

the end game is the same,

and everything is arbitrary,

but the one thing that remains,

is that we’re all jugs of milk,

spoiling from the inside out.



in failure,

there’s regret,

the insurmountable kind,

nailing it’s way deep into the cranium,

infecting the brain,

seemingly so incurable,

but the solution to every problem,

the puzzles that rattle the soul,

are never as far away as one thinks,

for in failure,

there’s also solution,

a perspective never explored,

a path never unraveled,

dare to jump inside the Pandora’s Box,

conquering the complications,

that ill will every fiber of beings.



ocean minded

we are untamed oceans,

full of tidal waves,

salty bodies of water,

ready to poison the well,

rarely, oh rarely,

do we truly enjoy,

the flip-side,

where embracing the calm sea,

settles troubled minds,

and why not?

why do we feel we don’t deserve it?

we’ve brainwashed ourselves,

to almost the point of no return,

and with polluted waters,

we must move forward,

to where we find the strength,

deep, deep, down,

to swim against the current.


cowards gather like hungry wolves,

eager, oh so eager, to eat its prey from afar,

a chew here, and a chew there,

before closing in for the kill,

they hunt from afar,

pulling the sheep’s wool,

tight, oh so tight, against eyes,

eyes so naive and unknowing,

and how long?

how long before those eyes finally see?

there’s no true measure,

but only that the cowardly wolves,

those vicious wolves will starve,

but not to death,

for they’ll be hunted themselves.


“the grass is always greener on the other side…”

caught tight in life’s web,

poisoned by its spider,

dying on the edge,

jumping to the cult,

swallowing deep red kool-aid,

missing the point,

worrying about the lush grass,

greener on that other side,

overlooking what’s front and center,

grateful there’s even any grass growing at all.


as life ticks time away,

each minute dissipating,

minds aligned,

mouths open more than shut,

robots under flesh,

black holes housing souls,

it’s easy to forget,

to step out of line,

ruin the march,

and pave a solo path,

dig deep in the mind,

find the spark,

discover being eccentric,

ditch being conventional,

life’s too short and bitter,

to trek on someone else’s time.


blown glass

hot, malleable, glass,

melded, shaped, ever-changing,

spun, perfected, and spun again,

we’re all blown glass,

shape shifting,

following life’s ebbs and flows,

each piece a bit different,

none quite the same,

yet not unique,

we’re all blown glass,

waiting so patiently,

so ever patiently,

for the shatter.