Ode to the Bathroom Stall

A haven from the busy world
Just myself, my thoughts unfurled
I drop my pants and have some time
Where dull and serene intertwine

Finally an opportunity to recuperate
When I feel pooped and cannot operate
Here the dull tiles stay the same
The writing on the wall so profane

A buddah in a slight enclosure
The only place without exposure
I can get my ducks now in a row
Extra baggage no longer in tow

But my porcelain prayers do cease
As a man enters, disturbs the peace
Enters into my divine sanctuary
Intending to drop his load he carries

Casts open the door with such petulance
Releasing tiny bombs of flatulence
Drops his trousers with avengence
Explodes and nearly bursts his appendix

I sit in solemn silence, a warrior jaded
So near the final heave, now belated
Anticipation for a smooth release
Now the farthest from my reach

The intermingling of our aromas
Now enough to induce a coma
I decide to engage in retaliation
At his evoking my consternation

But as I take my wad of teepee
To rid myself of excess leakeys
My adversary in the adjacent chamber
Hits me with the final remainder

A sound and stench combo so appalling
Worst I've witnessed in days of stalling
It last for 14 seconds before it passes
Except for the deathly residual gases

I flee my once-blessed cube of white
As I hold onto breath with all might
My asspirations and thoughts mangled
Trousers at ankles, impossibly tangled

One foot tries to lead but to no avail
Spread eagle on the floor, a teepee trail
Face pressed to the cold tile, delirious
My boss vacates the stall, a faceful of curious

"Mac you alright? Why you on the floor?"
Embarassment sets in, pierces the core
And just when I think I can take no more
It's not all out, here comes a bit more

The Wandering Lot

Every creature
Needs a purpose
A sense of direction amidst the storm
To guide it toward the light of knowing
No longer mass without a form

For when the current
proves its strength
It knocks ungrounded to and fro
Uproots them all in deep frustration
Nothing worthwhile left to show

Where can man
Find his peace
A solace that shall not stir
That when the current proves its might
A guiding force still undeterred

The gopher knows
Its path from birth
The bird knows to feed its young
Or risk to lose its fruits of labor
A sparrow's song no longer sung

Only man has
this curse
Of awful prolonged indecision
Where he can wallow to and fro
Never having tamed his vision

Man must find
His true passion
Before the time grows too thin
For with a goal comes fruition
A lasting drive may form within

Forgotten Forms

I held the book open before me
Its leaflets in a tizzy
I felt its depression
Weathered and worn
An obsolete expression

Handled by many men once
A precious commodity
I felt its vitality
To be caressed and folded
Its only reality

Comforting souls
It issued reassurance
I felt its wisdom
Scribbled on men's hearts
Offering freedom

But like all good things
It had reached its climax
I felt its expiration
To offer itself fully
Jaded prostitution

Now by the wayside
It dwells with the rest
I felt its lost hope
Stricken by longing
With no way to cope

Unmasked

I took two more steps and reached the end of the road
He need not turn upon my arrival; a blameless request
My pockets full of poor man's change and modesty
My lapel heavy from steady droplets of rain

His fedora fit snugly atop his hairless dark head
Eyes cast down, evidence of a man knows too much
Stagnant mist surrounds our encounter, foreboding indeed
My insecurity rings out cross dirt paths, revealing my soul

Quickly I regret my decision to leave all behind
To have revealed what is already transparent
Yet a stillness of mind seconds the body's uncanny yearning
And squelches the indecision that forces a lonely life

A comforting gesture, a liquid arm in a land of accidentals
Beckons me in closer to the fate always told
His convoluted intentions fill the void between us
With great trepidation I sit by his side

Reaching into his coat, he pulls out a small, greasy stone
And holds it before us, a momento of man's endless struggle
For the very first time his triangular eyes meet mine
And two souls laid bare, discuss the world's wonder.

Choose!

A loose pathogen of merciless sound
Overwhelming the spent senses
Teetering on the brink of compulsion
Indecision rears its heinous head

Of the two roads, one brings fulfillment
The other a highway to helpless imbalance
Grasping the mind, heart and soul
Squeezing the latter to a pulp in its grasp

Pleasure or spirit, Climax or direction
One cannot exist without the other
Yet each brings a promise of its own
Only one I wish to see to the end

Caught in an abyss of ceaseless yearnings
Yet kept alive by the promise of delight
No bright future exists in these places
Only contempt bred and wrought from within

Atop the mountain of sweet, blissful musings
The valley below a tamable beast
Tis here man can become genuine creature
Tis here man can know fullness of being