Nostalgia and Regrets

I regret almost nothing I did and only a quarter of what I didn't.

I was a traitor to the immortality of youth.

I failed to comprehend the true pathos of sex.

I drove too fast in cars alone.

I learned to dance too young and forgot how till I was too old.

I rebelled against the wrong people.

I drank puzzling beers on rainy days while women waited somewhere.

I never found out where.

Punkmuter

She was an aging punk rocker sitting next to me on the train

Orange hair spiked not out of rebellion or nostalgia but mere routine

Doc Martin boots made before they were hip

Leather and denim worn and comfortable

Her ginger perfume betrayed her rough exterior

She frowned at the words Mr. Grisham had written at her.

If I asked her what her favorite Bad Brains song was we could be friends

But that's not allowed.

I'm a man and she's a woman and if we aren't going to have sex we aren't supposed to be friends

Storm

Sheets of rain

Pillows of clouds

Alarming thunder

The monkey demon wakes

He hurtles to the ground

enters through your wall

and explodes in a crack of light and ozone

then is gone

You were spared

forgiven, pardoned

Lay down

Go to sleep

Mr. Patrick's Depression

Mr. Patrick frowned. It was all too easy. What's the use of doing this if there's no challenge? They all died without a sound. Most of them never even woke up. He enjoyed this sort of thing when he wasn't so good at it. There were mistakes then. Sometimes they fought back. He had to react and adapt and still manage to get the job done. Now all of the excitement has gone out of it. Maybe he needs to listen to his shrink. Time to step out of the comfort zone and give that bungee jumping thing a try.

Sexual repression as a defense mechanism

The creepy old guy sits at the strip club stage

but turns down every offer of private attention

Mostly he watches the foolish young men, envying their lack of sense

The only man in the place who is aware of his own pathos

The young girls see him as a challenge

The older ones know better and leave him alone

Fidelity pushed slightly over his own personal limit

He grins at the beautiful woman with the odd lipstick and large rear

She approaches him

He buys her a drink, some hideous cinnamon liqueur,

but rejects her offer of a shower show

She asks for his business card but he feigns their existence

She tells him a phone number that he promises to remember

but doesn't

The Ball

The phoenix came to the party dressed as a peacock.

The eyes on his borrowed feathers saw the truth of us all.

Masks and costumes, beer and wine, fear and ecstasy.

Lonely creatures stalking willing prey.

Hungry freaks tasting flesh previously forbidden.

A mass illusion held together by tawdry string.

At midnight the phoenix shed his false eyes.

He toasted our mutual folly and burst into flames.

The Open Door

Walk past the open door
Don't even look inside
that door is not for you

Maybe the next door
or the one after that
always the one after that