coin slip

pounding pounding, whirling stars;

around my head,  with etched scars

throw and  stack me in a booty bag,

for carry on what they call the bank.

hand giveth paper,  hand taketh me

I dangle perilously, in pocket of thee

as friends keep shilling, till gone is me;

as the hand giveth me to another thee.

 you flip me like I am on a trampoline,  

and call out, just to decide on some;

ignore as I leave you, don’t give a bean

for I come and go, and go and come.

they have a math dedicated to me,

silly of them, for its whimsy of me;

but you are you, chance is chance

you dance on little, on my dance.

some keep me ever, I say ridiculous

let go of me, you moron and let go;

let me flip and slip and kip about;

bounce and bounce and skip around.

tossed when new, saved when old

much better than what you get;

crap, I fell down hard and tumbled,

rolling along, the road is rough;

I am here, in scrap yard friends,

here I come; picked after eons,

pounding pounding, whirling stars;

around my head,  with etched scars.

eeesh

when the chalk screeches against the board,

and the nails scratch against the fresh paper

a chill in the wind talks to the goose bumps;

as cold water hits the teeth, and sours it so.

the swing sends the grass flying, that’s all,

slip of the tongue, for a suppressed giggle;

when words and action blow up so in front,

and a muck up, anything against the odds.

the short hair, and icky is the mirror look

or the achy tooth, the tongue no-forgets;

that one spasm, which is for every action;

first burn, shock, skid, loss of very traction.

a nose bubble blurts out, not your decision,

or an olive pops out, with the burger talk;

the drink nozzles out, right joke wrong time,

a  grain sticks to that part of  tooth, Murphy.

both look down, a lifted head hits the chin,

chew chew arghhh... that’s the self lip bite;

the first masseur/masseuse, the comfort iks

and the first squiggle of tiny baby fingers.

first of the ice palm on the cheek, an eeesh,

‘I used to, what happened now?’ an eesh;

‘why me, of all the people?’ another eesh;

nothing to all, believe it, passes as an eesh.

something else

the tables were a maze, last player left,

what if the spot was not meant for you;

sagging alleys, if the chair didn’t hold,

what would force you to bow n elbow.

you sat, the walls domed of reflections,

russian roulette, like never seen before;

you will believe, black piercing shrills;

too much cuts you, too less gets to you.

the tables were struck with lightning,

the scar, hidden by the fumes around;

why is still a keenness to befriend it,

maybe the warping will come around.

the game starts, and corners are cut,

the cushion revolves, it’s your ride;

pass through several hands, bee hive,

clock ticks, you take a key and leave.

there is dust in your eyes, reveling in,

there is dust in my thoughts boring in;

as you palm the dust, vision hampers,

as i shoo it away, my thought distracts.

a distraction of sight, and skewed images you brew;

an aberrance of thought, anachronous words flew;

the roulette disappears, mind’s gait is aplomb, guess,  

thoughts return, and the words look something else…

the creative code

the musician creates the notes,

it vibes till the universe exists;

the comedian strains, ponders,

downright, a civilization laughs.

an artist sketches, colors stay on,

a revelation occurs, never before;

forever the mathematician wins,

in tandem, harmony with illusion.

an idea, same spark, great change,

a precedent, a lead, it’s in charge;

a streak of creativity is what now,

for genesis is all we want to know.

a direction, a portrayal, a grace,

a voice, a sport, penned words;

divine, chance, cognitive, code,

decipher, excessive and shrewd.

invisible string, dot in dot in dot,

flows in, the fountain of light;

prisms the faculty, cutting blind,

unknown questions, answers sound.

the cosmos manifests on us, the infinite light;

we shred back the glow, as ‘the creative code’.