markus erectus

i blink too hard, raise my head, lengthen my spine
and wish to find then keep my stride
i wish never to wish for time.
an empty threat, says procrastination’s side
but, says the other, that you consider a wish a threat
makes jiminy cricket look a beast of lies.

so. as i set out to find the new and avoid the same
already the old girls have announced their game:
procrastination's ribs getting poked by sarcasm's finger
(oh proud finger, strident finger)
said ribs finding strength in numbers; like all good malingerers
they cry, we can do it! and are glad for the poster
with that cute-armed woman, the riveter, she brings them together
unlike sarcasm and his dirty faux-poking pharisee of a finger
(oh sunny-side ribs, might-not-have-a-job-but-great-with-kids
will-wait-for-better-cos-we’ve-seen-worse ribs).

so many inside voices, inner children in the fold
this year's Resolution to resolve is so postmodern i've been told, and that
my at-attention posture is like a prairie dog without fur,
the college girls work so hard not to giggle when told
that their tall-but-aimless classmate is graying and thir-
tee-hee-hee hee, oh my god that is so old.

if, some night soon, your coffee tastes of sarcasm, or your cigarette rolls its eyes,
or your burger begs to stay and stay and linger with the fries
that's just fallout; just me and the girls as we sever inside ties
just me tryin' strike a match, to light the kindling in my eyes.