Corrosion

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Hello old limestone sculpture,

Of an ancient, armored,

Sword-toting,

Female soldier-

Meet acid rain.

Your chiseled face,

Buffed away,

Until the once completed visage,

Looks like modeling clay.

Slowly, but surely, we return to square-1,

That marvelous, marble base,

Laid bare,

Then swiss-cheesed,

By sizzle drizzle.

Behold the disappearing monument,

Matter cannot be created,

Nor destroyed,

But that’s neither here nor there,

Until we put real effort toward conservation,

Of the curated.

Heartbleed

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A bait-and-switch,

Give and take,

Fake Out.

I gave the server,

A blank note,

She did a double-take,

And blurted all her client’s

Names out.

That was taboo,

But she never got the memo–

Maybe it was wrong of me,

To do.

It felt a touch exploitative,

Though I assure you,

A hacker never uses

Their sleight-of-hand,

Technical prowess,

And strong communication skills,

for evil,

Unless they feel like it.

Nothing More, Nothing Less

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Shannon and I

took a wrong turn

off the middle-path,

and found ourselves

outside our comfort zone.

The sign said,

“Welcome to the City of Hyperbole,

Population 400+,”

At our side were so many traffic cones,

workers were expanding the road 

from one lane to four.

When Shannon asked,

They told her “tourists keep rubbernecking to read the plaques.”

Every house displayed their own personal braggadocio,

The things about themselves they wanted everyone to know,

The first one on the right,

Had a sign out front that read,

“The world’s humblest home, made of the finest red brick,”

It seemed cozy enough.

The one across the way said,

“A lawn to rival Elysium,”

It was obsessively manicured, 

but no more so than the others for sure.

We came upon the town square,

Sky scrapers, fountains and memorials,

Commemorating the founders,

The newspapers were filled with highly-biased editorials.

“This place is creepy,” 

Shannon said under her breath,

The bystanders sitting on benches, walking by and paying no mind

In short order, went from sleepy,

To irate.

We were maligned,

And chased,

One woman shouted “watch what you say,”

A man with turtle-shell sunglasses screamed, “that’s the ugliest car I’ve ever seen,”

“This town is the only place I’ve ever found peace,”

“City, you mean,” one pedant corrected the other.

The amorphous crowd,

Destroyed itself,

Piece by piece,

Brother by brother,

While we made a quick get away.

How I Spent my Summer Vacation

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Greg wore thick-rimmed glasses,

had meticulously,

parted and slicked-back hair,

wore a white button-down

and freshly-pressed slacks

every single day.

CLIK-atik.

“Here’s a picture at Niagara falls with Molly,”

They stood in front of the famous formation,

Facing our neighboring northern nation,

Looking uncannily like a modern American Gothic.

CLIK-atik.

Molly smiled lovingly,

but had nothing much to say,

aside from “Greg, honey, get out of the way”

As his shadow was blocking the projection

of the spectacular cascade.

CLIK-atik.

“After we crossed the border

We drank a few beers, and ordered poutine.”

Someone from the sea of folding chairs called-out mid-yawn,

“Greg you’re the only person I know who would summer in Canada.”

Molly smiled again.

She knew more than most about Greg,

Who found excitement in the routine,

and archaic.

CLIK-atik.

The whirring machine,

Was so old that it seemed,

Ready to come apart,

In a tumult of loose-screws,

and dust-particles.

CLIK-atik.

“Hey look! A moose!”

Greg didn’t lie,

but the picture was from such a distance,

that it was hard to make-out,

the animal.

“They’re pretty dangerous,

so we stayed clear.”

CLIK-atik.

A black title card,

With the word “FIN,”

Written minimally,

Spelled the end of the slideshow.

CLIK-atik.

His favorite part of the trip,

and his life,

was sharing the experience,

with his friends,

family,

and wife,

Long after he left.

One-Sided

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If you’re lucky,

You will see the writing on the wall–

Whether you’re enthralled,

Or feel the scald,

Of the stream of consciousness,

Depends on the context.

But the assymetrical,

Solipsistic nature of feeling,

Will leave you reeling all the same,

If the answer isn’t what you’d hoped.

Whether the graffiti,

Is a firm “no I don’t,”

Or “I wish I could,”

Or the dreaded “once I did.”

That disparity,

Will sting, 

Believe me,

But with time comes clarity,

Do not despair.

To forgo the truth,

To let sleeping dogs lie,

Is to be forever ensnared,

In your most cherished,

Nightmare.

Vestigial Structures

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Long ago my ancestors left the trees 

with their tailbones tucked between their legs,

and they turned out fine.

Snakes did the same

And grew out their spines,

More than I could ever hope to,

Lost some things along the way

And are still with us today.

Who needs tonsils anyway?

Consult the appendix,

All you like,

You won’t find a good reason.

“All these pieces of me,

From yesteryear,

Are still here,”

I said, getting goosebumps.

If my flaws make me human,

Then what about the leftovers,

From when I definitely wasn’t?

In doing what it takes to survive,

You cannot afford,

To go back to the drawing board,

And you can’t correct the record,

When your body is the archive.

Lichen

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Complementary cooperation,

is part and parcel,

with survival

in this world.

There is space for you here

with me,

even if we look different from each other,

and come from separate 

walks of life.

In times of strife,

Keep me company,

And give me cover,

So I can give unto you,

The bounty the Sun provides,

With no expectation

Of reciprocation.

From our closeness,

Comes sacred symbiosis,

So that,

In sum,

We are more

Than one another.