I overslept.

Today, I yawned myself awake:

Stretched discomfort from taut and tender limbs.

With the day at my fingers,

My clock spewed wrong numbers.

PSA

Due to the thousands of things I insist on pursuing, this thing won’t be updated any time soon (unless Bailey wants to start up again?) It’s not that I don’t write these, or like them- it’s that my energy is being invested elsewhere. Until something changes, you can always follow my adventures at ipayraptattention.wordpress.com.

Can you guess what we talked about at lunch today?

More proof I am a dinosaur:

scales, cold blood, failure to see the Dark Knight.

Concerned citizens wonder-

Still breathing? (Just hopeless.)

From the Post-Its of Friends…

OK- after a day of meetings and one very extended lunch break, I present the first in a series of my favorite post-it poems by other people. More will appear this weekend (after I get their permission to share):

 

Winner: Environmentalist on a cynical warpath

Build a turbine in the ocean:
Nooo, don’t! It endangers the precious fish.
Gunner says You or the Dog-
Even you’d kill the pup.

-Maurice

 

Winner: Evoking the shitty air-quality of summer in a poetic way:

If lapping silence at my ears tells true:
Your absence is hazy like August and me in morning.
I fly to the echoed ringing beacon-
But alas, it is never you.

-Bailey 

And, as always, one of mine [that may or may not be the reason I went out to lunch today...]:

Pakora packed in tupperware:

culinary experiment gone wrong.

Tastes like fried mashed potatos,

heart disease and cumin.

 

Keep them coming! Just think, this could be you.

Holy Kleenex, Batman! It was right under our nose, and we blew it!

Apparently last night at the midnight showing of one Batman movie in New Haven, Connecticut, the film BURST INTO FLAMES five minutes before the end. How’s that for going out with a bang?

 

I’ve gotten a great response from poets both professional and cubicle-ridden, so I’ll be putting some of my favorites later today. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with one of mine:

 

Mother to the multitude:

men like sheep sheared clean huddle sleepless here.

I offer reluctant ears,

occasional xanax.

Bouquet

My boss’ flowers brought, fresh grown:

violet tissue paper promises.

Fragrant, blooming reminders-

report due tomorrow.