This is a fairy tale,
a flash into the past
as green gasses swirl,
and purple ones
intermingle
just for fun
as I am spun
down a weird
rabbit hole.

Upside down
and sideways up,
though I try to stop it
my will is not enough
and I am devoured
by some sick chasm.

Soft esophagus
walls ascend
as I fall in
feeling its pulsing
presence
and air pressure
as it is breathing,

I am swallowed
by this giant
hungry heathen.

Thick drips
of slimy saliva
follow fast behind
as my mind
succumbs
to the terror
that I find.

How foolish of me
to fall asleep
in a fantasy.

I drop and plop
as my body stops
on some soft squishy spot.

Is it a lumbering giant,
some flying dragon,
or angry kraken
who took to snacking
on my human sized form?

I ponder this problem,
slip on a slimy warm spot,
then continue falling.

The hole tightens,
and my breathes
takes a break
from my body
as I am squeezed
down a smelly hole.

Then, right before
I am about
to pass out
it is all the way out
I go,
on my head
on a wet green
grassy bed,

while the
slick, stinking,
shimmering orifice
moves off
shrinking
in the distance.

Confused,

bruised,

and misused,

I wonder
“Was I someone’s
food, or sad solid poo?”

A ****** story
to say the least
and I cannot even
identify the beast
that ate and excreted me.

All I know is that,
I really need a bath.

Whats the point
of dwelling on
memories
when all they bring
is misery?

When we hit repeat
on our favorite
sad song
so we can
sing along
while we cry
reflecting on
what ifs
and why,
why, why.

Whats the point
in letting the pain
consume the better parts
of our rational brain,
do we have to explain
how we need to be
retrained?

Whats the point
on reflecting on
abstraction
in books and songs?

When I wake
to tears
with unknown
origins
what is the point
of this confusion?

It is a transaction
of passion
into kindness
an action
to define us
as the better parts
of a collective heart
made to start
pumping out
gallons of empathy.

If you can see
and share my
humanity
with humility
the possibility
of a better society
becomes the drum
beating thum, da thum,
da thum, I love
everyone.

Desire is
a pink
poisonous
prison,

a constant collision
with the better angels
that help me make
my decisions
and my urges
that up ends
them.

It is a hole
I keep digging
hoping
Mrs. Robinson
will take advantage
of my played out
innocence.

What a privilege
to be driven by
this day to day
desire that inspire
repugnant
thoughts and
behavior.

I would prefer
to live a life
of discipline
and logic
but passion
prevails,
and passing travels
pushes me on
to one more
mistake.

Attachments
make me weak,
and this biological urge
makes me feel
like a big freaking creep
when I would
like to be
is a nice guy.

I can’t wait
till I’m seventy-five
cause I won’t buy
a single blue pill.

I have been wrong many times,

and in them shaken to awaken
to some higher elevation.

I have been confused,

seen shadows stew
and my sense of understanding
require dismantling
and rebuilding
with scraps that I have
never even seen.

I have been growing

physically, emotionally,
and intellectually
expanding and receding
as if my existence
was captured in a cycle
of needing deep breathing,
of losing and replenishing,
Of seeing
then being blinded
just int time
to open my mind
and see once more.

Above all else
I have been changing,
everyday
into someone else.

I’ve got a bad case
of the human race,
rusted metal morons
rummaging on my
spinning grace.

This is my place
and I share it with
a lot of other animals
who are not equipped
to ravage or destroy it.

So, this pox of polluters
natural resource abusers
and horrible drug users
needs to be reined in.

Though, I tried to maintain
adequate equilibrium,
yes, I tried to sustain
all the creature living in
my local ecosystems,

mankind really did
a number on my ****,
****** up my climate
and the tools I used
to balance out the abuse,
like resource scarcity;

Well, humanity has
outpaced my ability
to hold them back
by creating
mass producing
assembly line
technologies,
and unhealthily
enhanced agriculture.

So, it is highly likely
all the other species
and human beings
will be exiting the scene
much earlier
then I previously
projected

What does the body remember
of the presence of pressures pushing against
in skin to skin contact,
the sweet exact acts
of parallel pleasuring?

Does it yearn to revisit those instances
in this arid existence
of apathetic individuals?

Do we need to see and greet
the people that we meet
with heartfelt hugs
that help us
feel at least a little loved
more than once a week?

Is the need for the contact we lack
unconscious, but so powerful that
living without it is emotionally crippling?

I have been struggling
with the confines
of my flesh driven mine
for thirty plus years
and in that time
sought the affection
that is as close as to the divine
as I believe possible.

A semi-spiritual relief of connectivity
to another human being,
sexually or with the passing pleasantries
of other platonic people.