At the After Work Event

standing in the back of the room
away from the buzz of networking
the chit chat and side glances
judging if I am worth talking to

here in theory
to meet people like me
but don’t see any
that are dreaming of poetry
and fire eating,
or worried about Nazis on the moon

spy a woman in black boots
and dream we elope
and leave this reception, this life
behind

sputter some more zombie work talk
drained glass, wet napkin in hand

leave as early as I can,
and savor the cold walk
alone

At the Financial Presentation

The analyst speaks

Well and sharply

As the secret poet

Scans the room

Looking for people

Also making

Their mental escape.

We pour the coffee

Into our cups

And dream

Of climbing mountains

Hunting goats

Haunting dojos

To fight samurais

Get through our days

Stealing prices of time

In various ways

We stumble,

Poems and scribbles

Tumbling from pockets,

Betray our heretical lives

In our world I’ve bedded

A million women,

Slaughtered 

A million Philistines

At the golden door.

I am king pirate

In a desolate

Future-medieval world,

A gift to women

And a revered artist

Stuck in my petrified cocoon

Growing rusted and insane.