wrestling with angels

slept three hours max, my brain is a stew le ragout,
***-au-feu, a *** on fire, my dopamine is dope,
and seeing ladders, escalators going up and down,
angels all want to try wrestling with a protected poet
beating this poet a  internet-fast way to fast fame!

one who dares to tell the Boss to fk off, who takes
none of the deity’s lip, mock imitates His deep pomp and
circumstance voice, gets away with poetic saucy disregard,
cause poet worked his way into a corner of His affections

all just because the poet keeps telling Him to stop
this tortuous interference in human affairs, to lay off
the string pulling in lives for His amusement and
satisfying a reality TV craving, why can’t He change,
the channel to Lifetime and get tears vicariously, like
an ordinary minor deity, nah, not Him, he loves His
wrestling so, even though, everybody knows that

wrestling is so fake.

the desk drawer was open, extending an invite,
cheap blue handle scissors, easy see, on top,
robbed of excuses, went around the house, all my
personal goods, mission oriented, trimming away
loose threads wherever they were hiding in my life

no expert in love, for sure, but struck by you people
linking love and dying, over and over, like they are
hyphenated, siblings, separated twin children, that
long to communicate, checking each other out on the
internet  anonymously, cause these two linked in ways
not understood, loosely tied, a threaded linkage, can you
please explain?
(mysterious)

is loved only fully realized,
when it phoenixes?
burnt, slowly agonizing,
arisen, resurrecting,
is it one cell endless
dying, re-splitting?

Paul calls,
asking:

“and you wonder why we, why you,
why I am still crazy after all these years?”





12:04am
Wed Sep 9
plague year

<>

sometimes I weep gratitude:


when
you send a poem my way
that wrenches this old heart
in ways that believed were
no longer possible. weep.

eyes see your word images in actual physicality,
me, shedding cells and real tears, musing,
easier is good work that originates in all
new things beautiful, freshly created,
repairing old.^

despair for those who know not this sensing,
weep for yourselves, that I cannot
sway and assuage you, with quality words
that harbor both of us, in mutuality.

call in of reinforcements, sharing a single dock,
visions of rocking together in the wakes of others,
if when you should ever think of me,
think this,
your words are my comforter wake,
gentling my rocking quaking.

sometimes,
my weeping is but
the noise of desperation,
being washed away by the sound of
gratitude weeping

<>


Thu Aug 20  2020
8:36am

~for teach~

tell me, are you ok?

yeah, more or less;
like everybody else,
wires get crossed,
static builds up,
the speakers bleat
when they should blat,
and you try to stop thinking,
cause why hurt yourself
too much?

what’s wrong?

nothing to specific,
that seems to be the problem,
like aches and sharp pains
that come without reason,
on a schedule all their own,
no prior consultation,
permission slip sig forged,
so badly, it’s insulting

it’s 3:14 am, woke up with
headphones on, every tune,
reandomly selected, saying,
only the lonely, solitary man,
miles to go, it’s probably me,
long monday coming,
gonna spend it
looking for the summer

now look at this, me done wrote
another impoverished poem,
just by stringing together
song titles that were selected
just for me by an artificial intelligence,
it’s closing time, in the fields of gold,
prine singing a blues lullaby, just for me,
so I won’t have to think so hard for an answer to

tell me, are you ok?

me?
got no complaints that
ain’t my own fault,
my guilt is plugged in
always charging,
sleep comes in dreams of many colors,
eclectic eclipses, electrifying and elicited,
words come spilling so easy, pre-selected,
elocuted and executed, with madding ease.
two more lines, then calling it quits, but at least
got an answer, why for me it’s so easy,
the being hard

<>

3:32am and the moonlight so bright,
it’s making shadows on earth, left behind
like good graffiti announcing I was here,
maybe I’ll find these words, when I wake up,
wonder who wright these, twasn’t me,
I’m a sound sleeper, can never remember,
dreams, or nightmares, even those in technicolor,
wake up a blank slate, to see,
gotta answer somebody’s question,
if I’m ok?