Holiday Pay

There's a crack in the swollen sky today
We're caught
          standing, stuck, underneath it.
Looking bad for the good guys down the home stretch
'cuz that motherfucker looks to be leaking.

Sad news from front offices
Sales figures are down again.
So bummed to slash your benefits
but what's best for you is none of their business.

With newsprint leaving light ink stains
on tabletops
          and tips of the fingers,
they'll just dust crumbs from sweater vests
and sling their quarters into cold parking meters.

Shit! Here comes an avalanche!
Stay still. Just snow. We won't flinch.
Pretend that we can stand the stench
of the bodies on another warm Christmas.

Sad news from the offices
Pension plans are expensive
Have to reap your benefits
You should prob'ly look for work on the weekends.

Hope they like their breve drinks
Hope they won't stain fresh-bleached teeth
When the North Pole melts, the stores will sink
and the roofs of malls will stand in for beaches.

There's a crack in your lean wallet today,
It aches,
          it's nothing money can't fix.
Maybe try and reapply after New Year's Day,
'cuz for now the sky is still fucking leaking.

Ground

A blanket
A covered stretch of ground to cross in due time
A blank face
A blank slate
An empty head tonight moves across this white space

I've crunched through snow and Summer
                                                          ­    both.
Fused years, found friends and let dead ones go.
This axe to grind has grown dull, I know--
                    and cumbersome
                on ground yet to cover.
As days splice fibers into 12 month rope,
Hang this warm hat on one thing I know:
                      that I've still got
                   ground left to cover.

Slow breathing
breath steaming off into dioxide cold night
It drifts towards
the moonlight,
ghost of a laugh escapes, leaks into the night sky

A half hour
A half-smile stretching through my creasing face now
I laughed when
you sang me
Chantilly Lace as we walked across that cold town

I've weathered snow and rainstorms
                                                     both.
Fused years, found friends and let dead ones go.
This frown of mine has grown dumb and old
                    and cumbersome
                on ground yet to cover.
As days splice fibers into 12 month rope,
hang memories on one thing I know:
                    that I've still got
                 ground left to cover.