here's a poem about the three hours of free time between the time you wake up and when it's time to go to work:
needs to write
needs to exercise
needs to write, read, eat, fight
right now
needs money like a blue sky -
cheap buys, guys!
dollar thrill bills on friday nights
monday wednesday doomsday
will there be work on the worn horizon?
work for the weary?
work for the ready-bodied?
the fiery eyed and the ocean gazers?
the pony-tailed pontificators?
the bearded, the bedraggled,
the me's and the you's (but who's counting?)
still, the squirrel outside my window
keeps busy, peanuts and pay-corns
sunday afternoon and
outside the blinding window
"howl, howl" says the dwindling wind
"who?" says the azure void, "says who?"
"please" I says
say us how to bloom and spare us your truth
last thing this generation needs is a name
's a tired old game
used to have a dream
then I went sane
here's the solution
says I, to me, softly:
uproot away from it all
start over simple-handed
learn the flowers, learn
heart is hidden 'neath the uncut sky...
"hasn't worked yet," says the optimist
"hasn't ever worked," says the yawning dusk
"hurry up!" says the due bill
"All-A-Buzz!" does the conductor
("grumble, grumble, grumble")
maybe we are
nothing but smarty-ants
bee-lining towards workaday
till one day
queen bee goes missing
takes her money to the bank and
leaves us constellation fishing,
"be back in 10 to 15"
