Made my morning
much much easier

Doing everything that
I was told to never do.

Wake up with wine
A glass at a time
And at least three
Puffs of Cuckoo Chi.

Before that I **** myself.
Or, with luck, a PYT,
Who promises me
She’s on the pill.  

And if not, Oh
Well, I’m sure “Zanir”
wasn’t her government name.


It took close to twenty-three years
To shake off the agony of daytime.
There was no place for me in the
Systematic sunlight. Or, at least,
Not one that I could see.  But now

I’ve got a bottle, ½ full of optimistic
Alcoholism. I manage the condition
With a bit of cinnamon, spiced into
Steel cut oats and W.A. Elderberries.


Admitting what you don’t understand
While trusting that you know yourself
Is the last, if not only, human freedom.

Social expectation &
Psychic ambiguation.

Don’t take refuge in the familiar
Without first hugging your weird.

Comfort traps aren’t new,
Just the latest edition in:
That’s How They Get You.

The shell falls
Following the boom
Where everything is still in motion
Like a whispy smoke trail
Rising steadily from an iron chamber
Or the shock received from an expected impact
That brings attention to the action
Down the sights
As a slight ringing bombards the senses
Into a state of catatonic ambiguation
It becomes clear that the target set
Is wholly unaffected
By the decision to shoot
In turn
Reducing the validity of the attempt
Yet it is not a wasted round
But grounds to attempt another shot
And another
Until the bullet hits the mark
Which is metaphorically
Your heart
===============================
Failure is not an option
So we try
Try again