home trouble

a disassemled drive
shaft, with spasms
in back
waiting
and
waiting
for them to tell
me, “this ol’ girl
don’ wanna run
no more.”

the muffin man

dressed in a subversive
shock of pink – a slit
across his belly.

the muffin man waited
fighting not to dwell on
stripe enhanced curvatures.

the muffin man waited
in line.

silent, and patient
the muffin man waited
for the chance to
be eaten alive.

questions

are we ever given the truth, or just satisfactory answers? do answers pacify us with the illusion of truth?

absurdia begins

let's rock.