nyc note #387

am i trapped in the 9th circle of hell?
no, i'm just sitting on a hipster-filled L.

like demons, they writhe in skinny jean splendor
en route to art-raves, blog parties & benders

they smell like they drink PBR by the barrel
and look like they're broker than american apparel

but i shall not judge, because i'm on this train too
with greasy bangs, headphones & questionable shoes.

nyc note #245

lately, this town's biggest fear -
it has changed.
we couldn't care less for the
drunk or deranged,
we'd happily choose getting
mugged, thugged, or drugged,

o'er the miniature horror
of being bedbugged.

yes, psychopaths pale in
comparison to these
tiny slum landlords
who spread like disease

they're dirty little hipsters
yet savvy as can be:

your place might be rent-control
but these jerks live for free.

home wrecker.

insomnia's a bitch.
a coy, conniving witch.
each night she employs
an army of noise
to keep us from
sleeping a stitch.

insomnia's a jerk.
the patron saint of shirk.
she encourages pillage
throughout the village
so we all show up
grumpy to work.

telephobia.

it's true -
i'm afraid of my phone.
it refuses to leave me alone.
it rings and it pings
and it tells me to do things
it's a demon -
this mobile i own.

i admit -
it's slightly neurotic
to fear something so idiotic
but it mocks and it stalks
till i give in and talk
it's not a smartphone -
it's psychotic.

topical.

if your meeting
is going downhill
why not go
along for the ride?
so the ideas are dead--
think of better
ones instead!

or grab beers
and activate the slide.

happy hour.

if every hour was happy hour
how happy we would be
the half-price pints and pretzel bowls
would wipe out misery.

the 10 cent wings and well-drinks
would surely cure disease
and millions of heartbreaks
would be soothed by nacho cheese.

the free nuts and the free pours
would calm all job unrest
and we'd solve world conflicts easily
by slurring, 'no, YOU'RE the besht'.

if every hour was happy hour
how perfect life would be
but as it stands there's only one

so we're screwed for 23.