Round peg, square hole

I am it seems

Always

Five minutes away from kissing you

Five minutes from holding you close and

Breathing you in as

When first we met

The need is still there

As strong as ever

A burning and want

But what of those clock hands

Which seem to slip

Or fade

Or are held back from

Ever reaching just the right time

Am I the one doing this?

I blame unseen forces

The universe and Darwin

Einstein and Bohr

How can one

Who needs you so much

So often

Reject all possibility of being held

Close and warm and

Safe

And yet the pattern fits

My constant attempts to fit into

Unsuitable spaces

Incorrect times

Fighting to get in

Fighting to get out

I am

Always

Five minutes away from kissing you

Five minutes from holding you close

I keep coming back to the fire

The constant predictability of change

And how

To just make peace with this

And with you

That is all I ask.

Almost every boss I ever had, including the one that brushed his teeth at work

There is little worse than a man

In a poor suit

Other than one in a poor suit and cheap shoes

Nor are those whose body odour expands beyond

Their borders as intolerable as those smelling of nothing

But

Soap

As though bathed at hospital mere minutes before

And arriving, un-fucked by the city

At the lift in which you too are ascending

They are repellent

And void of life

Lacking the juice of a medium rare t-bone

Or the opposite sex

How unfortunate then

That so many managers and supervisors and heads of

whatever the hell

Look so goddamn bad and smell so goddamn clean.