They say that anything becomes easy

once you figure-out how to do it,

but the figuring-out

is the part

that stumps me

like a Calculus problem


with a power-saw

while I’m still using

this blunt ax.

Hard work, isn’t the answer,

but the Answer, requires hard work.

Newton discovered Calculus

during the plague year,

while everybody was dying,

and Edison failed over a thousand times,

until the light went on

in the dark.

They say,

failure is a friend to many

and it’s always willing to hang-out,

but most people tire of failure

because it never goes anywhere

or does anything.

It’s like your best friend who wants to meet women

but he’s waiting

for his doorbell to ring,

and it never does.

Failure gets old

and never seems to die.

We are left with failed lives

like used, stinky, black, socks

and we try

to find that silver lining, like a thread

that holds it all together.

I know this guy

who plays his old guitars


and listens to Dylan—

he’s not that good (the lens crafter, with the used guitars, that is)

and he wears pristine glasses

and has a bald spot

on the back of his head.

He has been depressed for years…

over what might’ve been

His hair is long (what’s left of it)

and he worships

his dead dreams.

There are countless men like this

in living rooms, across America

and perhaps, the whole world.

They have encouraging wives

who nurture their fantasies

“That was pretty good, honey.”

When we are young, the dream can be real

it’s bigger, than it will ever be

and when we get older

it shrinks

like those dirty socks

stuck in the washer

going around

and around


like 6 kittens

that never got out of the bag.

If they had 9 lives,

they used them up

pretty fast.

The devil cat

can’t be found.

It’s black.

Living forever

in the moonlight.

It is the darkness—

that thing, that can’t be found

mysterious, like thin air

with green eyes

shining, out of it.

Poets, want to be that

black cat

but they don’t understand it.

The light only reveals

what is in the light.

The devil

is never caught

out, in the open.


a creature

that sees

in the dark

will ever find him—

an ill omen

to many

but good luck

to a few.


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