sick of your...

Every time you spit in my mouth
with your visceral vehemenence
i wonder to my wits end
Did you kiss your other lovers
with that poluted ***** mouth?
Does it make you feel bigger?
or more in control?
Does it tickle your fancy
to be taking your toll
On me and us and what could be ours.

Im sick of your words.

Your attitude
slung low on your hips
biting
deleteriously
loose from your tongue.
Tonight im not crying
just tired and perturbed
you're a tyrant to my self,
an echo disturbed.

I want to hate you for this
While i love you for the other,
but who am i to blend the boundaries of
love and hate?

and your love is the balm
you say?
that eases the pain,
keeps the demons
at bay.

I disbelieve you now
amidst this tendered rhyme,
spoiled stitch in time,
that is binding your lexis
to my tongue.

You're in my head.

and i dont like to savour
the rotted flavour
that is your shadow of doubt,
seeded so deeply in the terrain
of your self triggered drought.

Im sick of your words.

Tenuous at best
This equilibrium I find myself clinging to.
Dangling from the earth by my cranium.
Watching as others, like birds must see fish,
flail about the universe,
feet bound to the firmament above us.

For us
it resembles suffocating
or haphazard design.
Unable to fathom the sensation of the skull
flopping about deleteriously.
As though hanging their brains as bait and net
to whatever hazards might glide below.

Yet, these impressions
would be invisible to the thinking mind, forgotten.
And ours pondered over as a peculiar mystery
born of some untamed imagination.

Tenuous at best
This equilibrium I find myself clinging to.
Dangling from the earth by my cranium.
Watching as others, like birds must see fish,
flail about the universe,
feet bound to the firmament above us.

For us
it resembles suffocating
or haphazard design.
Unable to fathom the sensation of the skull
flopping about deleteriously.
As though hanging their brains as bait and net
to whatever hazards might glide below.

Yet, these impressions
would be invisible to the thinking mind, forgotten.
And ours pondered over as a peculiar mystery
born of some untamed imagination.

First, there was Al Gore's prescient film, AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH. Then there were scientific warnings from around the globe. Then there were scientific facts. Now the most respected scientists on Earth give us 10-12 years. Either humanity does the near-impossible--correct all these wanton, ecological errors or all life on Earth perishes.

So what is the metaphor? Ecology is but a metaphor for all other existential threats facing Earth. Imminent nuclear holocaust, for example.

What we don't yet see is something John Donne saw several centuries ago:  No man is an island. I would add, No island is an island. We are all connected. We are all one. We shall either sink as one, or die as one. There are now over 200 nations on Earth now, but these political boundaries are illusory. The waves and winds that become hurricanes, the air that we all breathe--all are oblivious to "borders." And now the pandemic.

What one human being does deleteriously inelectually affects the rest of us, just as John Donne portended. Why not reverse this catastrophic pattern? Why not turn it around 180 degrees? Why not create Peace on Earth forever instead of War on Earth forever?

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks