Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

karma doesn't owe anyone.
karma is two bit whore on a corner post
focused way beyond collection
and alliteration, the creation of debt
a matter of imaginary calculation
devised by a con.

karma puts pretense on
like a deed due, hours of contemplation
askew, an unrenewed book or tape
from a local rental store.

karma doesn't understand reasoning.
she doesn't account for investments.
she is a nihilistic curse blurred by
resentments and harlequin ways.
the only time karma stays put
is when karma plays the numbers
herself, rigging the machine.

karma is a mean twit.
she fools the steam off paved driveways
with a wink, stinks up a fix before you have
the chance to dance with a rush.

karma sucks
gusts from a whirlwind treatise,
promising to return.

the burn of karma's never
severs the meaning of fair.

karma doesn't care.
karma doesn't freaking care.

i see her stare
from a native habitat,
her synapses trap chemical
possible combinations but i am
not afraid. karma makes the
bed she's made a gift to crawl
into.

karma is a liar.
karma is a saint.
karma consistently has
the last word to say.

i owe her nothing.
she owes me naught
she remembered my name
for a minute or two before
she forgot.