What Happens to Ragnarok Deferred?

The boy's problem with schoolwork was “work,” not “school.”

He did his work as late and quickly as he could, the fool.

One time he left the work too late for any hurry,

and with nothing to turn in, felt a world-ending worry.

All he could think was “damn, I'm in deep shit.”

He would have bet cash that Maitreya had hit,

But though he was grounded for five or six weeks,

Life simply went on with a couple of tweeks.

The boy met a girl; the two thought it seemed right.

Their joining made him feel like “let there be light.”

Then, girlfriend shortened herself to friend,

and the boy thought the world was sure to end.

For one day, he put the world on suspension,

Headphones blaring music he'd rather not mention.

Tears and spring rains became summer, then fall.

This ending was no Armageddon at all.

Soon the boy got employed, although having a job

Did not make him care. He still dressed like a slob.

He hated his customers more again than his bosses.

Only on bathroom breaks did he give any tosses.

Since he barely came in, he was duly let go.

He thought “Fenrir is here” when they first let him know,

Like a crash with Nibiru, or at least coming near.

So intense were his feelings of shame and of fear,

But life just went on, past these setbacks and others.

Pestilence went unseen, as did all of his brothers.

As the boy moved along, his suspicions kept mounting

That nothing he'd do would stop long counts from counting.

Now he tours life's disasters with nary a care,

With his eyes off the road and his hands in the air,

and if on he meanders, head made so, of mutton,

Someday it's real likely he'll press the red button.

No Rain, No Rainbow

Life happens at the worst of times.

What starts one problem tall just climbs

Until it makes a mountain from

The misery that comes and comes

From every corner and which way,

From morn to night to too-soon day,

From work, from traffic, government,

From hobbies, seeming Satan-sent.

Beset by problems, error, and strife

In every single facet of life

While “just give up,” the sirens sing—

There seems no point continuing,

and just when you think there's no way,

You finally have your first good day.

Anywhere But Here

When time and task are at their best,

I understand the urge to nest.

Who, once as fickle as a cat

In changing hat to hat to hat,

Is first to don and last to doff

His new hat, which he'd not wish off?

When such a man am I, it's clear

I don't want anywhere but here.

-------

Half of me wants to retreat,

The other half to take a seat

and never once move from this chair.

It's got me yanking out my hair.

This question I would like addressed:

How can I be both bored and stressed?

If you're out there, if you hear,

Take me anywhere but here.

Explode Into Space

I push my bike harder to see how far it leans.

I don't know what mortality means.

My survival's the horse on my side of the bet.

On the other, I'll pass before I know regret.

I've embraced that against death, my only power

Is to turn down Caesar's life cycle of cowards.

Don't ask me for wisdom, explaining your dreams.

I don't know what enlightenment means.

I've met nary a detail I couldn't forget.

I'm willing to wager my brains in my bets.

I've had scores of ideas, every single one awful.

I'm always thinking, but I'm never thoughtful.

I exist on a circuit of several extremes.

I don't know what nirvana means.

I take too much in and I push too much out.

I settle for laughs so the world won't hear shouts.

I've always been loudly, excessively me.

I don't have a clue how to shut up and be.

Caedmon Might Dig It

Aspirational ceilings are held up by walls,

But the floors, not the ceilings, tell how far you could fall--

A tumble while changing a lightbulb, at worst,

and not from story fifteen to the first.

From a young age, we're taught not to gaze at the floor:

Eyes ahead, or look up to men taller, with more,

So the only ones truly aware of the same

Are the ones who are bent by oppression or shame,

and where people look, they will usually go

(As all who are riders or drivers would know).

One can climb a step ladder or prostrate himself,

So in the end, what makes us poor is poverty itself.

Blue Sky at Night, Biker's Delight

Pleasure tingles purple at the sight

Of late-hour blue enswirled with white,

and once this inspiring sight is seen,

All of the lights in my head turn green,

and thus single the courage those half-alive lack

To seek out a redline somewhere in the black.

To avoid being yellow, or ending up red,

As a man I am orange--like my helmet--instead.

Somewhere in the Ks? (Between Joyce and Legion)

I could slide under the the trucks as they come.

When I think of the bone-jolt, it makes my skin hum.

Or I could step onto sacred ground

and throw my fists at everyone around.

I could isolate youth and trust

and thrust and thrust and thrust and thrust,

Which would probably also start a fight

I could dig Cobain's great vise into my eye

Or take some construction paper, cut, and slide.

I could tug and fondle and fiddle.

I could take a knife, slice it right down the middle

For a laugh, I could play in the crunch or the red,

For a laugh that leaves everyone crying instead.

I don't know what game, and I don't know why,

But I don't want to play it unless I could die.