2018, A Mythological Autobiography of a Wolf, POETRY

a night at the opera

Sarge glances
through the glass
that lines the kitchen
people, waiting to be seated,
stare in;
as the kitchen
shows ’em controlled chaos.

Sarge spots her
In a black dress,
Cut low
Freckled cleavage
and then goes back to
making deserts.
he spins around
and takes some more orders
as the printer
prints ’em out.

as he goes about
building plates,
he starts to hum
and then a song comes out
from under this breath
as he puts the desserts
up in the window;
and begins the next order.

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.
lookin’ thro’ the window of my cage.
watching her with my gaze.
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’

sarge spins around.
opens the cooler door
behind him,
and grabs a creme brulee. spins back around.
to the rhythm of the song in his head.

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’

he puts some sugar on the top of it,
levels it out.
reaches out
and grabs the torch
lights it
and then flips it.
singing his little song.

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.
looking thro’ the window
kinda going crazy
thinking ’bout a lady.
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’

he drops the creme brulee on a plate
he has ready on the stainless steel shelf
drops a mandelen on the top
and spercels some powdered sugar over it.
and starts singing again.

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’

2018, thoughts, Uncategorized


a line
that hovered on one wall,
went to the end
and then came back around
on the other wise.

three hours of thinking
of how if only I had not
followed those other two cars.
as I watch
the people in the court.
not the ones with the traffic tickets
but the ones who had to do this everyday.

I thought of a book.
something about always
having a towel.
the Vogon,
and so long and thanks for all the fish.
I felt sorry for those people.
there was a focus on repetitiveness.

it was a nightmare for me
just being there for a few hours.
think of them
for days,

[to be thought about more later on]