A Sense of Purpose

Every Monday morning millions of humans wake to alarms, wash, and then head to their offices where they mix together their perfume and cologne, coffee steam and carpet cleaner vapours.
The scent of a new work week cycles through the air conditioning.


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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.


A Fourth Manly Poem

Persecuted without cause. I am stateless. No choice but to persevere.
The world around me simultaneously moving too fast, too sludgy.
I am beyond the reach of reality, but latent expectations court their tolls.
My heart weighs heavy, my legs move as if shackled. Each breath may be my last, but I will not give up. I'll never relent to the travails of this battle. Though demons plague me, I hold onto hope that liberty might prevail. One day.
Until then, every second is a victory. Anything more, a triumph!
On the other hand, it's just a cold.

A Third Manly Poem

Lots of noise these days about social media’s “intelligence”. In my opinion, overrated.
Twitter wants me to follow Trump? Not going to happen.
Facebook suggests friendships with people I would pretend I hadn't seen if we passed on the street.
Instagram? Based on my interests, Discover displays pictures of Germans on tractors, fields stretching into the distance. Why? I grew up in the city. Never been to a farm. Never squeezed an udder. When I arrived I couldn’t believe the fresh air. Horizons in every direction. A feeling in my heart like a suburb was a trap. Where will I end up next? There’s no wifi here. I’ll never know.


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Another Manly Poem

I saw you at the football.
Just the other day.
You were leaving the bar, head and shoulders above the crowd.

You began to turn toward me.
I flinched, I looked away.

It's not that I dislike you.
Only... I had nothing to say.
No updates that I would share
since ten months ago, last game.
That previous time we caught up
and talked about Robbie Gray.

You walked in my direction, four beers in one tray.
You stopped a metre from me. You said, "Hey."
I smiled. "How you going man?"
Turned out we were both okay.

Then the siren blasted.
We said goodbye, went to watch them play.
Never to see each other, or think of one another.
Until it all happens again.

I guess that being tall
makes it harder to avoid small talk.

A Manly Poem

Steel
Porcelain
Water
Oxygen
Wood
Dirt
Leaves
Bark
Rubber
Blood
Grass
Ants
Tiles
Rocks
Aluminium
Cement
Glass
Paint
Leather
Super-absorbent polymers
Feet
Limestone
Plastic
The Ocean
Lint
Disenfectant
Concrete
Mats
Mud
Polyvinyl chloride
Moss
Hair
A moth
Cotton
Paper
Flowers
Canvas
Bricks
1,4-Dichlorobenzene
Corrugated Iron
Floss
These
are
things
I
have
urinated
on.

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