early retirement                                           2.11.22 Mercury/Pluto conjunction

I’ve been cracking jokes lately,
when in the company of others.
When there was an opening in the conversation
I would insert a comment;
I would joke about my life in early retirement.
I would joke and say that I am retired.
It's obviously funny because I’m only 35;
fairly early in my second Saturn returns.

Over the last 18 months I’ve made modest acquisitions
fit for a retiree;
house slippers, a few extra lines in my face and
even a piccolo pipe with dark cherry Cavendish tobacco.  
They all fit rather nicely,
(according to my eyes)
when worn with my gray cardigan with the red whip stitch
suring up the right pocket;
the same cardigan I wore the night of the accident and the
morning of the ward.
That was an equinox to remember.

Maybe it's in poor taste to joke about early retirement.
Perhaps that it isn’t very funny to go on about,
or maybe it was only funny to me.
It hadn’t quite occurred to me until now that
it may be kind of awkward for a grown man to crack
funnies about his lack of income or industriousness.
I suppose I just gave myself a pass.
Because I figured everyone already knows I’m
a little unhinged-
a little ungrounded-
certainly a bit touched…
and that “he just needs time to heal because he is
an activated Light Worker and the benefits reaped
by his inner struggle to anchor the
Light upon the Earth plane is in everyone’s best interest,
and that it takes an untold exertion of Will to exact such an incarnation,
and that it takes more than a few several months for the
risen Kundalini to come to maturation.
Quick, can someone please get me a tourmaline.

Well, here I am in
southern Jersey
Manchester Township
Ocean County
Riverside retirement community
side of the pond (man made)
composite bench under a gazebo erected on a concrete pad.
Sitting inside my cardigan next to my piccolo pipe and a pen in my hand,
wondering how I could feel so lost and so found at the same time.

I’ve been a stubborn *******.
Afraid to bear my Light within my hands and
expose it to my kin in a meaningful way.
But here I am,
early retirement
on an early afternoon
in a retirement community
full of elders
slinkin through the
early dusk of the
twilight of their lives.
And I don't like it.
I am not equanimous with what is.
I’ve excreted so many toxins that the
re-uptake is nearly too much to bear.
I’ve carried empty green notepads in my back pocket for years.
Pen and pad with scotch tape holding down the binding;
worth about three or four poems max.
“Yea I fancy myself a writer, just not very prolific.”
You can only speak something into being so many times
before the universe starts agreeing with you.
Old man Saturn couldn’t give a **** about
little fears and excuses.
The limits of necessity were only
bad wiring
rendered by
my own hand.
And that goes down smooth like a fish-bone in the throat.

I own enough scarves and robes to
circumambulate the globe a few times.
If only I could fly
it would be in such style
because on the outside I look how I want to feel on the inside.
Before my heart center I hold the dharmachakra mudra and
I stare into a candle flame.
I could of sworn they prescribed this treatment
early in the Rig Veda for guys with ailments like mine;
running mad like beside his shadow and
fleeing all the house flies;
sliding down the side of a waxing crescent moon.

only the moon it is a scythe;
a crescent knife.
Waning in early retirement,
old man Saturn coming for his life.

Couldn't catch it
in the broad daylight.
But got the flame
in the pitch dark night.

Your emotions, cataclysmic sentiments,
build foundations from crumpled pieces of paper
creating ideas born out of despair
and you sit amongst yourself
feeling like a candle flame
with piles of unsaid things
as your fuel, waiting to ignite,  
a wicked smile held in place
right where it belongs
at the centre of a concept map
unsteady, unpredictable
the blueprint of catastrophe
laughter without reason

Amidst all the fire, all the days flying by with my head disconnected from my body, he returns to me.   Right in the flesh. He tells all and waits in fear, expecting his eyes to meet with my back once more. All the cold, ruthless lies about him I had believed in my brief time of confusion from the ignorant who prey on the insecure no longer ring true. I grab his weary soul and intertwine it with mine.  I kiss his wounded heart and melt in his sweet eyes of chocolate. The fire continues, but he will not let go, and nor will I. We shall relish as we burn alive hand in hand, without the care of anyone else. A lifetime of caring too much for judgement had done nothing but steal moments of happiness. No mind of another fool could change our passion nor commitment. He knows this as well as I do. I smile, for I finally found my mate in this twisted labyrinth called life. He smiles back because he knows.

she's like my midas, incarnated
golden just for me, i know she hates it
but she likes me though
she says

she'll call me baby, call me crazy
when she's the one cursing at me
but she likes me so
she says

and i'll be back everytime
like a sinner drawn to wine
i'll let her touch me, oh
i'll let her drown me in her liquid gold

call it toxic, call it comic
but all i want is this

she's like my midas, her touch is blessed
makes me golden, feeling euphoric
and she loves me so
she says

if this ain't love then what is?

and it's always the same
like a moth drawn to flame
i'll let her touch me, oh
i'll let her burn me 'til we're liquid gold

so she could love me for a bit
hate me for a bit
my love's been being cold to me

so just love me for a bit
i wanna be your *****
and it would feel like gold to me

My mind is elsewhere...
and the only person I have on it; is you.
My mind goes back to that night; the way you spoke to me, touched me, looked into me, The way you kissed me...
The intensity and passion between us was so magnetic that even shadows could not bare to lurk.
Obsession, possession, love.
I want it all for myself.
I filtrate your thoughts, you obsess over it, you want to do more than just **** me.
You feel guilt.

Nobody has ever looked at me like that...
The mannerism of it was, was something I have never had or felt before.
I feel his thoughts, pulsating through my every nerve, my desires are not to be obsolete.
Our energies, it's intertwined in a way that I have not with anyone else.
An image, a reflection... Of me.
You are me, and I am you.

I want to feel you again, in person.
I feel you spiritually and it makes me miss you immaculately.
I see you in my dreams, waking thoughts, my soul longs for yours.
I know you feel me, I know you love me, I can feel it.
It's creating a hold of heartache inside of you, you are dared to not even breach because of your priceless ego that stops you from what could make you someone completely different.
You were hurt, and to never trust a woman again was your broken promise you made to yourself.
Yet, you saw something in me when you met me, and decided to run away and treat it for what it was not because of your broken soul that you were not ready to face.
Complacent, stubborn, you already know you are mine, and I already know that I am yours.
I've adapted, but I still think of you.
Profusely, I still remember the gleaming stare in your hazel eyes.

Yet, timing is a matter of precaution...