The Deepest Twist

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for my friends who know that when HP says this my 1300th
poem, it’s off the mark by hundreds; nonetheless
1300 is worthy number to celebrate your affections
nat
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you return back my older children, fully grown,
my eldest word babies who never ever visit,
blessing them anew, lavishly, with special wishes

I,
take them,
with both hands, a reacquainting occurs,
the old words, deep twist, now hurtful hurt because
reimagining when and how easy they came to be birthed and
how the replication of that process is now a
practiced impossibility

how they burst forth, in purple majesty, wheat waving,
wholly formed, bathed in holy water, leaving no stretch marks,
only just an empty sac inside instantly needing,
needling me into auto-refilling right away

even the twenty four hour, hard deliveries,
long and arduous, were so easy created faust-fast,
that the errors of typography contained,
became lasting hall marks, iconic nomenclatures of
passionate loving-nonpareil

now, well past point of urgent addiction,
unlike then every glance, each sidewalk cracking,
lamppost shadow casting was
a sea story for a deep dive delving asap

I,
supplied answers for the internal badgering incessant
happy ****** need, mine, to go, spill the words,
cab or bus motion nursing them,
now they come slowly strolling,
semi-formed, needy, inconclusive, reused,
and feeling as trite as a cloth coat from an old thrift shop,
so wanting for tender loving care,
which is to provide when you are
four score

wondering how easy it was in prior times when inspiration
fell like a deciduous tree’s fall colorings gifts or
as little children’s nightly multitude variety of dream tales,
when whole worlds uncovered, nay, universes,
hidden between summers green grass blades,
or in unique snowflakes

the semi-forgot love affairs that parented poems
by the score of scarred orchestral scores,
now love circle-turn in holding patters in the
crowded skies above nyc,
awaiting for a trafficked man to give permissions
to “run-away”land that rarely is granted

once, poems in turbulent fluid born, noisy ripping of skin,
****** by the emitting of  constant calming tenderous words,
wonderful drippings, so many multiple births in a moment,
even the OBGYN is complaining,

give other poets a chance at parenthood!

the awesome anger of human tragedy is now so shopworn
from over experience,
even god visits less and less, for it is written,
nothing new under the sun*

though soon his annual visitors day approaches (Day of Atonement) and god will require new
words of human comforting,
a new poem acknowledging that being godlike
is ******* hard work,
for humans are annoyingly capable of incredulous kindness

how can one justify allowing unlacing acts of insane violence to tear
the hand stitched lacing fabric that’s ever ready
to bring us together in an instant elegiac joining

the truth is every one of todays poem are clawed,
shovel dug out from cavities and crevasses,
your new words of recognition of the oldies but goodies,
iron of irony, make it hard, hard, painful to write
without an epidural to numb the painful
dumbing down

when I am breaching my waters, I am hard to spot,
we ancient humpbacks live beneath the deep distanced,
cold waters for many more minutes
than we need surface for breathing,
the show-off fluking, less and less,
and when we birth,
every two years,
must bring the calf-poem to the surface instantly,
to breath, lest it die,
all the while repeating to ourselves:

what was miraculous writing is now nearly invisible,
to blinded fingers that arrhythmically cane tap,
words difficult to recall, recalculate, recalibrate
into a wholly poem

only the **** tears,
that same shameful violin permanent-accompaniment,
they laugh at me when now, they alone
come first quickest, all too easy,

appearing nataurally,

without a formal
written
invitation

It doesn't matter if you're wrong or right.
It only matters that people hear you.
It doesn't matter if you cower, or fight.
It only matters that people fear. Who
Are we to have an opinion? How dare
We voice our own thoughts and care
About matters that matter to more
Than our own life?

Strife runs rampant and the source is "unknown."
Every problem we face is unrealistically blown
Out of proportion. The right to free speech
has become "the right to blindly preach"
What we think is right to those we deem wrong
And everyone joins this cacophonous song.
We cannot hear their cries through our screams
We cannot hear their sorrow.

Though it seems
As if we are taking a stand
All I see is a contraband market where
People get off to the pain they inflict
Where individuality is slowly stripped away.

You're left, or you're right
You're right or you're wrong
There's only black or white
The grey area is gone
You're with me or against
Blind obedience is the best defense
Against the constant oppression
Like a Catholic in confession
We are down on our knees
Worshiping over their pleas.

And nobody's listening!

Two sides with no purpose
You're just another number
Not another person
And the numbers don't add up
No matter how much you know
And you look at all the data
It just goes to show we
Like share and comment
More than we
Might care to stop it
Our six seconds of fame
Matter more than the shame
We might bring to other parties
When we play our party games
Our brains are electronic
Our hearts made of stone
There's an ice in our veins
And a chill through our bones
We are a nation that doesn't care
About the lives of any other
We are a people who won't share
In anything but the belittlement of our brothers.
Divided in arms, United we stand.
Black white and red
Are the colors in this land.

So let's paint a mural.
Color this pain with epidural
colors and strains to color the gains
and not the losses.
Let's put down all these guns and crosses
The bullets, blood, and vindication
Let our voices and hearts
be the "Shot felt 'round the nation."
And not just one anesthetic *****
But an allergy test. Like the child so quick
To forgive the pain he's endured
When his gaze is lollipop-licorice lured
We have to grin and bear it if we want our reward.

This burden is ours, let's share it and move toward
A brighter future. A colorful tomorrow.
An energetic empathy to replace all of this sorrow.

There's blue for when you're sad
A purple tinge for melancholy
Scarlet, crimson mad
For all the times they said they'd call me

A bright-pink first kiss
Gently laced with gold
The silver tinge of wisdom
That comes when time has told
Your story to the world
Thrown your colors on display
Shown that who you are is compounded
Across a spectrum of yesterdays.

There's green for when you're sick,
Dark hues when you're alone
A white fog that falls so thick
When you don't know where to go.

There's the violet throes of passion
The infinite shades of art
The color that seems so quick to change:
The fickle human heart.

Let's condemn the colors we're supposed to be
And forget our indignation
Let's make a mosaic we're proud to see
Out of the true colors of this nation.

And when the rest of the world looks at this state
Let us show them we are United.
Our palette is a blend of every shade
And we will no more be divided.

I lay awake
1000 thoughts stealing my only relief
For when I sleep I feel no grief
I am
not sad
not angry
I am
alone
I feel nothing

I crave the nothingness like a ****** his fix,
the internal bliss of this illness
an epidural for the mind.

I love you
So much
That I want
To have your
Dozens
Of kids
With no epidural