Interwoven Into These Strange Worlds

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Interwoven into these strange worlds
Knowing that sarcasm is a mere veneer
We’re stuck in a crumbling society
Hiding insecurities & manufactured fear
BUT – we can get out & resurrect our lives
This isn’t the end of our story being told
There’s a stack of blank paper still waiting
How will you manipulate the ink; will you be so bold

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Pour Me Some Scotch

Pour me some scotch, I’ll tell you a story
This one full of thriving drunken louts
Seafaring strangers searching for loose women
Under these conditions, love is often on the outs
Ladies and gentlemen, please let me continue
Twas not I, for the saloon singer’s song
Melted her heart & it not my fault
You cannot blame me for his doing wrong
I too was blinded by the sparkle of the ring
I too was victim when that ship went down
Tilt your eyes back to who you know it is
In the dark corner of midnight rests the sad clown

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The Tea Party

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The place was called Union Jane’s despite a Union Jack flag hung outside in arbitrary defiance of the American Revolution. The interior was a busy menagerie of color and texture. Bookshelves lined every wall. Bric-a-brac and tchotchkes were prevalent throughout the establishment. Pink lingerie hung from moose antlers above her. A yellow parasol was spread open, attached to the rafters from the handle, on the other side of the room.

Tegan Taylor was sitting in a giant, overstuffed chair. She had a permanent sad girl pout. She wore chunky, black rimmed glasses. She wore a prom-style gown with tights and heels. Her grandmother’s pearls were strung around her neck. Tegan chewed on an antique pipe. A tattooed mustache peaked out from the inside of her pointer finger. A class ring from St. Mary’s College caught the sunlight whenever anyone walked in the front door.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“It’s not lit.”

“Ma’am, you cannot smoke in here.”

“It’s not lit.”

“Can you please put it away, ma’am?”

“Why?”

“You’re making people uneasy.”

“I’m not an easy kinda girl.”

The waitress stood there, not knowing how to take this customer. She was clearly a little odd. Without saying all of the unprofessional things on her mind, the waitress left in a huff of attitude and frustration.

“Tegan, why are you harassing with the new girl?”

“She deserved it. Dude, she was being a surly twat.”

“Will you please not talk like that?”

“What’s the matter, Ian? You afraid I’ll shatter your romantic fantasies of what a lady should be?”

“I know who you are. You don’t always have to go ‘full Tegan’ on people.”

“I’m offended by the insinuation that such a thing exists, besides, I did no such thing. I wasn’t even mean to her. I was neutral at worst.”

Ian grew frustrated with Tegan, there was no winning in these conversations. He changed the subject to something less antagonistic.

“How’s Matt doing? I haven’t seen him in awhile.”

“I left him.”

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Why would I joke about that?”

“I don’t know. I mean…why? Why now? You guys were together forever.”

“Yup, 10 years.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but why?”

“I got tired. He got lazy. I came home the other night to him playing video games. I tried to talk to him. He snapped and said some horrible things to me.”

“That sucks.”

“I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t want to compete with video games and his stupid friends.”

“It’s his loss, but ya know, I used to be one of his stupid friends.”

“I know, but then you got smart.” Tegan patted him on his cheek in a patronizing way.

“You can be heartless, ya know that?”

“I know, but I’m still one of the good girls.”

“Anyway, how have you been?”

“Have you ever thought of calling the place ‘Alice’s Tea Fetish’?”

Ian got up and walked away. He hated it when Tegan became combative.

“Can you at least have your tea wench bring me another cup?” She leaned over the top of the chair and hollered. Her smirk faded.

The rain continued to come down. She watched it fall for awhile before gathering up her notebooks. Tegan didn’t believe in umbrellas or raincoats. She walked out into the dreary day, just as she was. 

Manifestos Of The Uprising

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Manifestos of the uprising
Those who can no longer stay away
Knowing the tough road ahead
Highway stories of former days
Hateful & silent is no way to live
Bottled up with all that evil inside
Need to release the toxins & corruption
Or get washed away in the rising tide

Trying Out Stories In The Morning

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Trying out stories in the morning
Typing away on this ol’ machine
Thinking of something different
A genius the world’s never seen
But I can’t think of anything great
I guess I’ll get more coffee instead
I hear a whistle from my lady
I guess my love needs me back in bed

Don’t Worry About All The Little Things

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Don’t worry about all the little things
Mere details in your ongoing existence
The small decorations on your story
Paling in comparison to love’s actual distance
Focus on the sunshine, where happiness lurks
Ignore the naysayers & look towards your time
You’ll shine & blossom into something beyond
So hunker down, prepare your soul for your prime

Taco Tuesday 

 

 

Tuesday afternoon came around. We had planned on meeting up for lunch at Rosita’s. They have the best tacos on the island. The place was beat up. It looked like it was constructed entirely of driftwood and old metal signs. I ordered the Key West Amber. The barkeep wore peach shorts and a denim shirt buttoned low over a nice, tight tank.

“I’ll have a water, no lemon please.” The sound of her voice broke the love spell.

“Sorry, I was…uh…”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good. It has been a rough start to the week, but it’s early and we’ll rebound.”

“I love that about you.”

“What’s that?”

“How you always find hope in the situation.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“No, I get it. I just don’t naturally see it.”

“Are you guys ready?” The barkeep asked.

“I’m going to have the taco plate.” Alice’s voice was overly cheery, bordering on patronizing.

“Make that two, please.” I resisted looking at the barkeep, instead keeping my eyes on the menu. I folded it, handing it to her without ever looking up. I’m sure it was awkward for everyone.

“What’s your name, dear?” Alice asked the barkeep.

“It’s Summer.”

“Oh, of course it is. ”

 

*previously published

I Want To Live An Artistic Life

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I want to live an artistic life
One where I’m able to create
To dispel these useless actions
My power of imagination is my fate
I’m tired of the routine & grind
Wishin’ for a life that’ll never tire
The energy to continuously write
Churning out stories to inspire

Do Not Be Afraid Of Your Strength

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Do not be afraid of your strength
Learn to love yourself & all forms
There’s peace within the text
Embrace ideas as they swarm
Take a walk into the fields
Go further, down where the fairies reside
Take time to learn the dwarves’ names
When you return you’ll be bonafide
Write what your soul has digested
Tell us the stories living up within
Once you become young
That’s the exact moment life will begin