Blended

Beauty and plastic dolls. The ideal. The teach me. Love me. There is a time and a place for discipline. I'll say "No" one day and she'll understand. She'll button up. Listen up. Stand at attention. She'll hear the sounds of daddy's feet thumping through household hardwood floors. And remember not to touch the stove. Remember not to eat things off the floor.

Months will pass. Years will pass. But not now. Not now because brain function. Junction. Biorhythms system. Ties that bind aren't tied. Aren't connected. Synapses are growing. Flowing. As I'm towing the line. As I'm mowing my lawn. Trimming my hedges and saying my pledges of getting my piece of the apple pie.

I hear of landslide, hurricane, war, hunger, Aids ridden, genocide planet on daily news blips and bleeps through unconscious radio news programs. I hear the end is coming. The end is near. But it hasn't come. I used to stand on the tip of the volcano and want the eruption. Want Y2K to end it all. All my single life searching uncertainty. But now I hold my wife's and offspring's hands and think of growing old with them. Searching with them. Learning with them. How wonderful a world it can be?

One day, if we are all still here, her synapses will connect. The paths will be made. And "No" will mean "No". "Hot" will mean "Hot". Lose ends tied and connected. The synapses will be grown and evolved. And she will wake and see and understand the beauty that is this world. I can only hope and pray for this, on this . . . Mother's day.

Roach Motel

Course contract. Backing up systems. Copy files to make sure asses are covered. Smothered in onions and pecans, pork, South Beach Diet, rules. Shrink waste. Shrink taste buds, turn you into one hell of a stud. I'm staring at blank walls again. Blank time again. Making up worlds and hurdling pearls strung through Aphrodite statue concrete, plastic millipedes, while reading technical manuals.

They sneak into your house. While it's raining, and bite your ass at night. Taking away your virginity. Taking away the trinity of food, shelter, and disgrace in this place. Let's pile in on thick. Barricade ourselves in. We are being attacked daily, by cockroach dissidents heads rapped in rags, laying dead in the streets of our forefathers. Folks too scared to call it off. Too scared to admit wrongs. Turning the other cheek will get you slapped. Mapped by drones flying low to pinpoint WMD's that never did, maybe did, maybe hid, from existence?

It all hangs in the balance. Thin lines walked. Thin lines crossed. And never going back. Never admitting that you are wrong. Sticking by your cowboy guns. Sticking by your cowboy funds. I've written it. Signed it. The cockroaches keep coming. You can spray and spray. But they will keep coming in. Your borders are not guarded. They will sneak in under your door, and through your floor. You have want they want. And they were here first.

Sampled

Statuesque features of molded time, evolved and carved.
Barbie doll smiles and grins while drinking gin. This is life.
Everlasting. Savior. My life. Your life. Together.
Blended. Mixed. Sampled, and given time to build out.
Evolved from one family recipe passed down from generation to generation.

You plastic envy. Your perfect skin that pulls me. Yearns me.
Towards thee. I look at you and see perfection, interaction.
Sacrifices made. Paid. And time stamped with blood, sweat, and tears. Pools of which can sustain life. That might go on forever with all but a glimpse of your advice.