"**Fix Your Heart,
and the rest
will follow;
this battery pack,
changed
but
unchained**"
-----
as poems go,
this one goes well enough.
a trifle, an hors d'oeuvre,
an entertaining taste for the mouth of
your soul
well appreciated for & by those whose life long sins
of omission and more likely, commission,
occluded
every pore of their raggedy Anne & Andy
bodies, they dragged into every misadventure
that was accumulating pleasurable and endurable
they dragged him from the docs office to the operating room,
without a "by your leave,"
and did a fixer upper,
leaving me damaged but pumping,
my actual heart,
the 75% that was vacuumed and still usable,
pumps good enough
to write infrequently
itty bitty ditties
such as the emboldened one above
<*>
why need you know this?
not
a county circuit rider, a preacher or a reacher out to convert other sinners,
just an itinerant man, a scribbler of the odd observation,
that is a pause that refreshes,
when why, one grabs themselves by their own lapels,
and shakes, rattles and roils,
their core back n' forth,
so fast, so hard,
they named it
Shaken Soul Syndrome
nobody read me the riot act,
cause I was all growed~up,
did not require warnings and disclaimers,
to see, that my landlord gave me an extension on my lease,
cause nobody could afford a mort-gage
from a bank stoopid enough to give you
a heap-cheap -enough thirty year term
for a human who just might drop dead
at any second
so I lent myself some petty cash,
and commenced a newer vision, updated & refreshed,
no botox, or plastic surgery,
got a new baseball cap,
that had on it written,
"Dead or Alive"
with no further explanation
and walked the streets of my urbania'
so you need a short n'sweet
summ-a-ry:
in the pit
they call your heart,
is a genie with a lamp,
that if you ask politely,
will grant you any wish,
maybe one, maybe three,
but you make the first count,
cause never know,
how long that battery pack will last,
and there are always a few poems left
that need completion
<*>
9/20/25