Directed, Drifting, or Diogenes? (Doesn't Matter)

It's strange how much I don't care

If I'm home or not at home.

I could convince myself I'm comfortable

While in heaven, hell, or Nome.

If the language is a barrier,

It's tunneled underneath,

Those moments of near-frustration

Followed by near-relief.

Besides, how many people

Would I talk to in a day?

Any crowd I run with,

I'm alone there anyway.

To a Sportbike with Aftermarket Exhaust

The voice of a bulge where a bulge oughtn't be
Belies new, polished shine with a laugh so sickly,
A rattling, tasteless, and amoral burst
Like a two-fisted drinker out quenching his thirst,
But hawks make awful shrieks, and they manage to fly.
If I had some ear plugs, I might give it a try.

...Said the Teacher to the Time Capsule

I remember when I hated school,
But took it too seriously.
It was an ego trip for me.

I remember when I liked school,
But took it far too lightly,
Seeing how cool I could be.

I remember when I went to school
As to a social club: to meet,
and reconvene repeatedly.

I remember when I thought school
Was something best left behind me,
No more than scratch paper and memories.

Now, I am in charge of the scratch paper.

A Time to Part, A Time to Meet

That which rocks must always roll.
The clock, we watch but don't control.
The future racing in to meet us

Was always going to defeat us.

To each, the other will be gone.

We each ourselves will soon move on,
and yet, to end but not to leave
Will likely mean to someday see. 

The Recipe

Start with a stance, passionate but unbalanced.

Throw in dashes of Dickinson—if she hadn't had talent—

and cut into sections with rhymed ends that slant.

Into some, the essence of nineties decant.

With the essance of aughts, be a little more stingy.

Let the thing stew in a brain-bucket dingy,

Then knead it in an uneven rhythm that skips.

Alliterate lightly to cover the blips.

Mix metaphors up like a suicide soda,

and finish it off with an unrhyming coda.

Oops.

Eh, nevermind.

My Personal World, Part 22: Baggage/Around the World in 8 Tracks

If I am ever really known, then I am known to travel light.

I lost most of my memories along the road one night.

The bumps were bruising, the memories too heavy for my mind.

I think those twist and turns were also too much for my fright.

I last saw my shame on the way down a pass on I-90.

It couldn't keep up with so many bad decisions at high speed.

I might've left my marbles just east of the Mississippi.

They didn't weigh me down; I just didn't want 'em with me.

I'm not an accountant, but still, I don't fight

The influence of tastes past on my future, my life.

If I did, I'd need insurance no agent provides

For the times high-flying, erratic-steering memory collides

With the steady, ceaseless, high-speed driving of a beat,

From my most recent metal, and back to oldies.

I'm not really known for traveling heavy.

Nevertheless, I carry most of the music with me.

Alliterative, Literate, Literary, Lawless

In reading and writing, regarding the radical
I've been too focused, fixated, fanatical
On being fantastic, first rate, foremost and formidable
To find favor with the finical, fussy, fastidious,
But not once have I wondered "well, what have I missed?"