(20 minute poetry)


Them can scoot fast when the last seat's available,
don't worry about this old rhymer
he can spend some time a
standing
he's had plenty of practice

but in waiting for the opportunity that  I'm sure as **** is due to me
I keep my weather eye open.

Them's still young,
got years left to sit
years for their dreams
to come untrue.

And it's nothing to do
with it being Friday
this is everyday

sometimes I think
if only the wheels of
industry moved as quickly,
but that thought fades away
as this day will
and
them's still young

It's no fun but it's bearable.

The doctor rubbed my sore shoulder
spraying copious amounts of analgesic compound
to freeze the area
from the side of my eye I caught the
silver glint of a 6 inch needle poised
to penetrate my quivering shoulder
with cortisone
intense pain exploded through my consciousness
as the syringe fracked into the deeper regions of
my shoulder

Afterwards, while reflecting on this incident
I thought about polarities and Newton’s Law:
“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction”
The pain I had just experienced did not occur in a vacuum
Somewhere along the time continuum I’d set up that opposite
swing of the pendulum

I recollected all the intense moments of extreme and dizzying
sense enjoyment, lust and gratification
my mind has sought and indulged in with rabid satisfaction
always wanting more, restless, never content or at peace

When we examine this world, and its quintessential duality
we are confronted with extremes at every angle
Hot, cold, up, down, win, lose
We can’t have birth without death and so on
hmm…. I thought as the enlightenment bulb
went off in my head
This is why many great sages and saints
fostered a way of life that
transcended duality

Lord Buddha extolled the “Middle Path”
He described the middle way as moderation
between the excesses of carnal indulgence
and self mortification

Aristotle gave us the “Golden Mean”
“every virtue is a mean between two extremes, each of which is a vice.”

Sathya Sai Baba states:
“The object of meditation is equanimity,
the object of equanimity is samadhi (enlightenment or self realization)"

This beautiful quote by Bhagavan Baba is redolent with wisdom
and sublime beauty:

“Surrender to God and to life means the absence of duality
and being of the same nature as God.
But such a state is beyond man’s will.
Surrender is when doer, deed and object are all God.
It comes naturally to a heart filled with love for God.
God is as a spring of fresh and sweet water in the heart.
The best tool to dig a well to that inexhaustible source and
savor its sweetness, is Japa (Chanting God’s Name)

At one point I couldn’t find love to purchase
I thought you ended those searches
but now I’m getting nervous
thinking I might be allergic
to your nature absurdist
and I can’t swerve this
feeling I’m worthless
stripped of all purpose
boils start to burn us.

I’ve got an eczema
sense of a
relationship
rashly lips
can’t kiss
who they wish.

I can’t leave the house
or your eczema breaks out
you scream and shout
and make me doubt
if your love is devout
when you treat me like trout.

Stress boils through my skin
after you tell me I win
and leave my house of sin
leaving a gift in
an itch
given by a witch
to make me twitch.

You’re the itch that rashes
causing unnecessary scratches
leaving a width of lashes
on my skin in patches
your personality matches
the blistering ashes
of my skin that detaches.

I keep itching
I keep scratching
to be switching
from your thrashing
into comfort
to numb hurt
of dumb words
creating thunder.

A doctor gave me a prescription
to avoid your dereliction
and feral diction.
He gave me an antidote
in a plan of hope
helping me cope
with saying nope.

The rash lingers
like poison fingers
choking me
woefully
draining life
like rain at night
I pray for light
and wait inside.

I found cortisone
in the form of a home
with a man
so I’m in demand
not your empty hand
red from the brand
of all the discomfort you withstand
now that you’re itching like sand
seeing I’m no longer ******.

First, throw in heaps of leotards and tights,
Piles of pointe shoes and old band aids.
Follow that with boxes
and boxes full of shiny,
         rainbow colored dance costumes.
Then stacks of bills for the cortisone shots
that saved arthritic hips.

Boil away all traces of emotion,
     No one likes a soup salted with painful memories.

Add a pinch of the cash father sent every month
just to keep mother off his back.

Allow a glance at family pictures
where everyone is smiling before they get thrown into the ***,
Mixing with the remnants to create a strange soup.

A deck of cards next, I think, with some Kibi
     for a Middle Eastern flair.

Now turn down the heat so that lovely burning boil becomes just a simmer of anger and
Go find the crates of things better left unsaid.

Rummage through the
“OFF LIMITS” box,
pull out the nightgowns Uncle loved too much
and throw those in as well,

                                                                       Just for fun.

Cranberry juice is not meant
as a topical medicament
for the treatment of private part itches,
I found out when I confided to
this girl online
that I had this serious itching
predicament
in places I didn't want to mention out-loud,
I told her how I had tried
Preparation H, Lamisil,
baby powder, Cortisone ointment,
Eucerin, and even Calamine lotion,
she said I probably had
a yeast infection, that
men can get them,
and her having the usual equipment
that tends to get this type of malady more frequent,
I took her suggestion of one glass a day
of cranberry juice.
Poured one glass over the offending itchy parts
before my shower each day.
When I told her her remedy was not doing anything but staining my privates, I heard her laughing, she dropped offline for ten minutes.
My face turned red when she finally came back and said laughing,
"I meant to drink it!"

Im a courtisan of cortisone
I dream in adrenal tones
caught in thrall of them all
Im a dope fiend for my dopamine
but oxytocin is the belle of the ball
if only I could find some more to score

Chasing camels knowing nothing
Faded, crossing the grass!
Dollar signs in my hair, nothing nothing, despair
Something sweeps along!

Pirates (become) cool again, kingdoms crossing dens
I wonder what keeps you afloat!
In the end however
You shall ought to ought discover
You better pay attention
Cause those wallabies won’t be merciful today

An hundred ***** dozen
The earth’s cosmic crap
Don’t worry about a thing
Let it all hang out loose

The floating desert above my window
Seeing cacti from miles around
That melty feeling in the floor
Buddy, buddy, buddy, buddy

Cortisone, Caroline, chlamydia  

Ryan Reynolds’ ***** fat old swine
Never letting go of this once-ward prime
Purple moles with drills on their heads
Green dotty daughters of pinkness concoction
Creation of the nullness of the black thing-a-mah-bob
Relapse and relax, do your slam thing.

Darkened canvas, broken spine.
Oh, the pain is so **** divine!
Shattered heart, blackened eyes.
The blood soothes all the lies.
Devil looking at me.
Mirror full of cries.
Am I doomed to suffer all my life?

The black ooze dripping off your tongue,
That auroramtic ash, spilling out your lungs,
They blind me.
They bind me.
To the very toxic desires.
That drown me.
Flushing away the offspring.
My future, because I don’t believe anyone…
Can love me!
And I can’t speak out.
Because when I do…
All I hear is laughing.
If laughter is the medicine.
Than why is it killing?
Ripping off my flesh!
Till my heart succumbs to the freezing.

Eating away at my soul!
How can I let go?
I’m losing control!
I wanna to quit, I want to let go!
But all you chose to hear…
Are the cries of a ******!

Darkened canvas, broken spine.
Oh, the pain is so **** divine!
Shattered heart, blackened eyes.
The blood soothes all the lies.
Devil looking at me.
Mirror full of cries.
Am I doomed to suffer all my life?

Will I ever find peace?
Living in a house that is not my home.
Like korn, I feel like I’m a freak on leash.
Got to suppress the demon with cortisone.
If only life was a beach, instead of a *****.
Thought **** would change, as soon as I got rich.
I used all my cards, but still gotta go fish!
My heads in the clouds and my joy’s in the ditch.
Man, can I ever find rest?
Feeling like a mouse, just squeaking on by.
Try to do my best.
Until I ultimately fail and go get high!
Cycle of trauma reverberated.
Leading those close to me feel devastated.
Who knew the lust and vices,
Would lead to self-hatred?

Darkened canvas, broken spine.
Oh, the pain is so **** divine!
Shattered heart, blackened eyes.
The blood soothes all the lies.
Devil looking at me.
Mirror full of cries.
Am I doomed to suffer all my life?

Flâneurs abound
The tragedy
of low expectations
Was described
To me
As the most uptight surfer
you ever met
Greeting me
like age hurdles
She was a black hole
of logic
and responsibility
My life
with no mirrors...
Exes
had limited vision
Too stubborn
and prideful
to admit
their freefalls
of poor judgement
My freefall
*** sum me da
Heretics
and Town Cryers
in the market square
Mephisto's embrace
of Lidocaine and Cortisone
I can no longer
skydance to impress
A scoundrel, my ***** culprit
remains reality-resistant
Like *****
on the Polar Bear rug
Incoherent verses of
"Dog and Cat
God and Oil
Signet and Spice
Partners and Paramours"
The incidental joy of life
Randomly convenient distance
from our Sun
Burning her kelvin heat
to charm our World
Venerated
Dreaming in fireworks
I write her in great detail,
She answers me
with tempered dictation…
Sun distance Earth
Enough
to burst
with anemones
as blue as Barbercide
This distance
Struggling
like a butterfly
in a rainstorm

February 1, 2022