Spinning round to connect the dots

scattered is me.
these disjointed pieces
connect, but only on a slant.
look between the ups and downs,
there in lays the true picture
follow me with your eyes
to misunderstanding,
for i have a tendency
to walk circle,
within circles,
borne from greater circles.
connecting the dots of
misshapen circles
is well within my nature.

Tilted upright

everything is on a bit of a slant.
a discreet incline i’ve seemed to
greatly misjudged.
walking askew against the grain,
and it hits me.
the level is fine.
it is i who is off.
where do i go for recalibration?
i can go to a mechanic for my car,
or a dry-cleaner for my clothes.
i would go to the shrinks, but
i’m feeling small already.
what i need is to grow.
i think it best to follow
prospering growers.

Certified shit maker

I enjoy talking shit because it is something I make on the daily. I’m capable of such talk since it’s been my life’s work to produce such copious amounts of it. Oh yeah, and I try to draw and design. Or is it that I design to draw? No, wait, I draw a design… Yeah I think I do those too, but I’m not entirely sure. I guess the lack of accolades and career tells me otherwise. I’m mean, I’ve received a piece of paper proving my competence, yet there doesn’t seem many who would vouch for shit. It saddens me because I’m thoroughly knowledgeable in that which is transgressive. I’m the arrow shot straight through shit. The course was straight, but the target, by happenstance, is a load of shit. Although I must admit, I see shit everywhere. Luckily I’ve invested in some new glasses, so I’m sure I’m perspective will change.