Take Me To Your Leader, Pt. 2

I don't have a picture of you.

I don't even know what you look like.

I don't mean your face, your form,

That cheap car your mind drives

Because it can't afford anything better,

Needs to get around,

and doesn't have the gumption

To try a motorcycle.

I mean you you—

Not appearance, not performance—

Everything you can hide

For as long as it takes to see me,

For the time it takes until you need

To ask to be excused to leave.

Take Me To Your Leader

“We” are not vibing.

You and I are not “we.”

I don't bear the same stenciled markings,

Nor do I tell the same stock stories,

Of your irrelevant, injection-molded heroes.

I do not crave the life of a metronome.

You never had a ghost of my imagination,

and have long lost the ghost's tale of legend.

You hide yours, but I let the world see

My proud and foolish hypocrisy.

You lack even the courage

To explore your own cowardice.

I have, and treasure, it.

What I'm Not

I am not median, only mean.
I am not God and Country.
I am not friends and family.
I am not as seen on TV.

I am not opposed to alone.
I am not clinging
To any youthful longing
That Someday Someone
Special will come along,
Or that (s)he will understand,

and I am not giving up my Pen,
Who sure knows how to pretend.

What I Am

I am a patriot in an academic army.
I am arrayed against the forces
Of ignorance and anti-intellectualism.
I am in command of the scratch-paper and hoops.
I am a veteran of, on average,
About two more hoops than you.
I am less my knowledge than my experience,
and in the classroom,
I am only as credible as my volume of writing.

...Said Diogenes to Dilbert (with Apologies to Diogenes)

They say to stop choosing for looks; go with brains,
But which part?  Do I pick politics or religion?
Should she inspire me to do fun things or duties?
There's a maximum one way just one person can suit me.
It seems my life came with a salary cap,
Which once seemed like a trap, or even a slap,
Like my ex dating a slacker who plays guitar and sings,
(I guess unemployed musicians are her newest 'thing'.)
Or the crush who said literate guys make her purr,
Who's engaged now, to somebody dumber than her,

But what once raised a burn doesn't now raise concern.
It took too many times touching stovetops to learn
Not to be overwhelmed by what I hear or see,
Because I am the one perfect person for me.

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.