Pique Poetry

Thinking about dates and time
as I write some more angry West Coast prose.
"Why do I keep writing zeros first, dating important things,
completing it with a nine, it feels like I'm going backwards."

It is one plus zero.
So if I hear anyone write in with snarky cynicism,
or quote "green" or "sustainable" like it is a joke,
one more time, I may lose it,
my patience for this experience.

For I am already forced to think another four years in advance.
I will be twenty five, going on twenty six, my golden birthday.
Celebrated, as I finish my time in Sochi, the new ambition, the Plan,
capitalized, only to fall apart?

That is what I have learned of capital plans,
they are soon forgotten; much like this sense of cynicism.
Maybe I came too late. Maybe jealousy abounds in Whistler.
Think of "green" in four years.

The paradigm, to use it incorrectly, shifts every second of your life, maybe.
So what is two weeks?
For me: a blue uniform, free lunch, contacts, future.
Some names in a book this time; a trial of independence.
Take your cynicism: put it into man's short common conscious,
the five ring circus quickly forgotten. Beijing? Birdsnest? 100m butterfly?
Right. Consider me an implant on Highway 99.

No - more whining please.
It gives me four more years of thought.