Under the rug
where it's darker than light
rumbles & tumbles
a beast born of the night.
What is it you ask?
Well, to know that
one must be brave
and one must also crave
to place a face to all fears looming.
So, go on, lift up the mat's edge...
Sneak a peek at
darkness booming.

Close the cupboard doors
for from far in the back
lurches & lumbers forth
the most frightful roars.
Your ears can follow your fear
to the space just farther than
the longest arm's reach,
past the jar of pickles,
and through the forest of forgotten spices,
even beyond the lost boxes
of instant mashed potatoes
which don't grow old for eternity.

It is this lightless den
that's home to scores of tiny T-rex
looking creatures called
Boomasaurs.
They spend their time
noshing & munching
gobbling & gurgling
snacks of all kinds;
including grazing fingers.
You don't need to know too much more about them,
of this I'm sure,
just go close the cupboard door.

Do you trust your boomerang?

There's nothing under your bed,
as sure as there aren't bats in my head,
and I write this in a room
where laces can't be in shoes,
so, you better check under your bed.

For beneath your pillowy paradise
on which you wish to float in a dream of candies 'n cream
shuffles a shadowy blob; dark, as though made of demons' truffles.
And being a black mass of a mess
it moves beneath your boxspring
in a roll-flop manner.
The sound of which when heard lulls the tired & weak,
meek, children & adults alike
into a nightmare's pleasures.
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   *shha-boom

When a barroom filled with laughter
can't lift your head, even momentarily,
from your sad, soggy plate of nachos-for-one...

When passing girls in narrow hallways
flash the fires of passion from their eyes into yours
simply to be smothered under a heavy, wet blanket stare;
a cumbersome quilt of all your yesterdays' shame...

When the supernal opportunity to live for another 24 hrs
is met with all the ambition and grace
of a house cat forced into a cold bath...

You are used up to this world.
You are lost to your purpose of being.
You are dropped to the dirt like
a flower whose spiked stem pricked the caressing fingers of it's holder.

Hold no expectation of a familiar, loving hand
to reach down, relieved to pick you up
and reunite you with what you wish to be;
or to place you where you belong.
Look around,
The ground is littered with us unwanted things.

We've all seen that ***** pair of disregarded underwear,
miserably caked in rainwater mud,
laying on the side of a road or under a bridge somewhere.
Whose hand is reaching down for that?

But, I won't compare myself
to a ***'s forgotten underpants
and neither should you.

I'm sure the universe views us differently than that.
It will soon pick us up, wash us of all those grimy wrongs
and wear us out anew.
Yes, that has to be true.

It's OK that I'm not loving you.
I'm fine to spend my time on me.

   I've joined a Dragon Boat racing team.
You should see us out there!
We're like Vikings speeding on the river and under bridges.
 
  I've taken up the viola,
and your heart would melt if you heard my rendition of 'Twinkle, Twinkle'.
It's really quite nice.
 
  I've begun boxing classes.
Suddenly, there's great comfort in giving and receiving pain,
and I like to believe that you'd hate that you love to sooth my wounds.
  
   I've joined a dodge ball team to give my inner kid some recess time.
He's been down lately.
Turns out, I can dodge your glances faster than I can a giant, rubber ball.

   I'm taking Russian lessons now.
I couldn't talk to you the way I wanted to,
so I don't see much use for English anymore.
  
  I've also started to volunteer.
I work with emotionally challenged individuals,
I like to think you'd joke that I'm not volunteering there.

   No, my life is very full right now.
I can't imagine just how little I'd actually do,
if I were with you.

   I have a singing lesson in about a half hour,
but I may not go.
I'm tired.
And, I really don't want to do anything today.

   I just want to... may be watch a movie with you;
though, I wouldn't make it to the end.
I'd fall asleep holding you,
and dream of doing the same.

Jealousy was the world's first fantasy.
To see her eyes look at him
in the way only she can...
and he's not even trying for it.
You can give your all in vain, selfishness, bitterness,
You can toast at their wedding...
Excuse me...

Uncaring minutes are but passersby
disregarding my wails.
They hear me; they offer no help.
Though, with only sixty seconds to exist,
why would they stop for me?

The hours pound against my skull with intent to smash their way in.
Such constant clangor resonates through my consciousness
disturbs my ego,
dislodges regrets,
the agitation seems to sieve out
tiny jealousies from among other thoughts.

The Days...
Oh those ******* Days.
They see me confused and seize their chance;
they pull out my feet
right from under my frame,
and helpless, hurt,
I collapse to the earth.
And here time really sets in.

The Months form gangs called 'Years'
and The Years take their turn
breaking my joints, my fingers, my knees,
all my snappable, crackable points.
Curved, crippled,  and creaking,  
I languish in fantasies of what's supposed to be,
oh, and the 'might-have-beens'.

Time makes things worse.

A dark shadow moves over me.
I look up  as far as a heavy, beaten head will allow
only to see the massive, soul-crushing weight of the decades
seating their backside;
oppressively,
down to rest upon my twig-like spine.
Snap

And throughout the abuse,
I crawl, cringe, cower
as safe as can be in a low lying state on the ground,
(which is still six feet too high for all that time cares!)
I hear from somewhere afar
an unfaltering decree
from my maker to me
"Stand up straight! For Heaven's sake!"