J. Manuel Ayala

After reading the work; upon finishing the last of the editing
A certain feeling, a feeling of despair
A feeling of inadequacy,
A feeling of impotence,
Makes its way into the room.
A realization that has taken 250 plus poems to come to:
I have written nothing
Notebook upon notebook of words ill conceived
The artistic endeavor prematurely executed
Now witness the art execute the artist.


I’ve invested stocks in Taco Bell
I am not a financial expert of any kind, but after watching 
Demolition Man, I figure Hollywood must know something, right?
Taco bell, the future of fine dining… my fortune is secured like the criminals of the future
Now, the real mystery, how do you use the seashells?

Royal Guard

Here I am 
a janitor now,
A raw thespian in the custodial arts
But I can’t help but think,
Do you still find me attractive?
Me and my mop and bucket, 
Do I still give you butterflies coming home smelling like
Cleaning solution?
Maria, I have weekends off now just like you.
On Saturday mornings we can make love in the early morning
With the door open and sleep on into the afternoon
Plan what we will make to eat in evening
And nestle ourselves in front of the TV
Maria, I hope you aren’t embarrassed
But I am a janitor now,
A royal guard of the latrine
Mighty with the mop and imperial with the broom
Now, watch this figure eight technique. 

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