The new season

I’ve got a name and a place,

maybe shame within grace

It’s flowing out of outstretched arms

It’s welling up in a twitch

A gasp that speaks in stoicism,

of tension drenched in cynicism,

bubble-wrapped layers of protection

Cargo dripping with death of supplantation,

out of its element

When things go awry

it’s there waiting outside the door

in conference with its quashed thoughts

Under the table it lies,

ghosts of the dead moments

expressed in an activity report,

quietly brewing up a new plan

to move this spike from the table to the grave

            The new code

MM 6/2013

Effective presentation

Projecting failures out into the future
Stacks of cards lined up across the table
in rows you just can't make them straight
Rationalizations in the key of existence
and heads in the damp dark clouds
The scanner shows it sinking
but logistics surely lead the way
from the show into the storm

On legs all wobbly and loose
this table holds forth the half-baked plans
The epilogue is a shame faced red
for the silence in the story
and the motions are of a steel-toed boot
kicking the shit up slowly and dutifully
churning in silence biting your lip
Waiting through the turn

MM 4/2013