This Old Man

A Foul Odor

Failure seems an only option.
Fail to the top,
Fail to the bottom.
Both sides (right and center) do it.
What's left is a shattered, crumbling wreck of fail.

No, more; no, More...
(No's plugs won't help.)
Mail fail and male fail,
Water wars and camp sites.
All around the world.

The proof of fail lies in the pudding,
Where monsters gleefully dwell.
Cynics ride the swell,
To the top of the shit pile.
A miasma of success.



Magic Carpet Ride

Make no mark for me,
My dust will mingle with yours,
Just the same.

Fly no flags, half-mast or otherwise,
Tread on me and sing instead,

A passing flame.