Deep Phase Labs

In my life, I have had several spurts of dubious-quality poetry production. Once was early in high school during puberty. My sophmore year in college, our dormitory had a "poetry blackboard" in one of the study lounges where I scribbled some contributions. Around the year 2000, I attended poetry readings at the Galaxy Hut in Arlington , VA. Here are some selections from my personal collection that I hope aren't too painful.

Henry Ford

Monday I Metro,
Bus to train and back again,
Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.
If I doze, then the week will yield a night,
Which is spent on Friday with baggy jeans.
I laugh during traffic reports.

Rubbernecking makes me smug.
Cooler recollections of road rage
Elicit a shrug; whatever.

Rain delays are your bane, not mine.
On Saturday I return like a guilty lover
To my patiently waiting curbside friend,
Who accepts me with a soft, muffled grunt.
Who responds to the touch of my hands
And the press of my feet.

Inside my locked steel cage, I am free.
Here, I understand the joy of a high speed merge.
Am I akin to an egg-eating vegetarian?
Or a whoring evangelist?
Perhaps, but I won’t yield my car.

Relish

Relish
I Relish
With Relish
Conundrum! A condiment comprised
Of stuff seperately sour is so sweet
Green and gushy yet ghastly good.
A tempting topper too tasty to top.
Hamburgers and hotdogs can hardly be humble
After application of this acme addition,
With Relish
I Relish
Relish

The Atlanta to Chicago Apprehension

Asphalt and blue
The sky meets the road.
With a band of green
Caught in between.
The Sun shines true;
It's yet to be sold
To its ultimate plight
To be eaten by Night.
I'm driving to you
From the hot to the cold;
But what lies ahead,
If only I knew.

Spite of a Star Crossed Lover

Manhattan train on New Year’s Eve,
met face to face, we, knee to knee.
I was a net ensnaring words
that floated from your mouth like doves.
As seagulls feed their baby chicks,
you gave me passion from inside.
I saw your soul, and was surprised
our car-mates were not blind of light.
You spoke of viewing real-time minds,
I understood that: only I.
My train ride done, in Edison.
A stroke of wings, I let you fly.

Four years slipped past as bided time,
at reception we met again.
I found no gulf, time formed no gap,
you draped me like a favored shawl;
despite the glow beaming from
your husband and newborn son.
Yet, I don’t believe that I am wrong.
Yes, we have a cosmic connection.
Instead I desperately try to recall
my betrayal of you in the land of Rah.
How deep a wound did I inflict?
How pure the scorn that you bear?
You’ve pulled me close to gently whisper
that in this life we're not a pair.