The drums of war
are brutal blistering
battering rams of
rage that repeat,
beat after beat
pulsing as we
move and bleed.

A warrior
on an obsolete
sturdy stead,
losing one
cubic inch
of his pinched
and pulled skin,
palpating atrium
disintegrating
as his flesh
loses its shading,
as humanity
starts changing
needing a new
naming
because what
comes after
is a walking
disaster.

The master of
destruction,
a transmogrification
of childlike nature
to a new monstrosity
worse than any
Stephen King
horror creature.

War defeats
and repurposes
the hope
that humans propose
as we close
one door
and then
shut the window
to stop the wind
from letting
the sweet breeze
of loving all of these
strange things
that make us
decent human being.

My lover volunteers to count the amount of stairs on each staircase along campus.
Right, left, right, left, right, right-left, right. There we go.
I count the moles along her arms, like a canvas (they are not freckles.)

My lover redefines the status quo,
Chopped hair that repurposes the definition of what it means to be true to yourself
Hues of blue and pink
And green.

It’s difficult to write something that means so much to you when you are infatuated with your own life.
Obsessed, besotted, and bewitched
By a colour that highlights the boring crevasses of each day,
Delaying and obstructing our undeniable decay.

She loves cats,
Not to solidify our cat-like selfishness,
But as a reminder to remain for all of our nine lives.

Many would call me crazy,
Counting stairs and the amount of times the oven beeps to reassure myself I am not entering a deranged state of mind.
But she counts the stairs
So I can step comfortably through each day.

My lover.

Otherwise titled deep into my fiftieth year of passive aggressive rebellious puberty.

Yes, I chickened out getting a haircut yesterday August twenty seventh two thousand and twenty four as stated in a previous poem before undergoing cataract surgery cause mine deux (mind you) ponytail donation of at least by donating at least eight inches of these straggly tresses to a facility that repurposes cut hair for Children with Hair Loss after getting golden – more specifically brunette imponderable locks lopped off, would still cost me thirty five dollars namely at Salon Nova (situated at west Ridge Pike, Suite A, Royersford, Pennsylvania, 19468) not including a tip, which extra bonus, (would most likely top off the total cost close to fifty dollars, but yours truly best ask this question ahead of time, which monetary fait accompli with scissors might best set my sights until speedy recovery videre licet post cataract surgery.

Sacrilegious transgression against deeply rooted obsessive compulsive disorder impossible mission to forcibly eject from out my psyche, until drastic measure of prefrontal lobotomy or Electroconvulsive therapy employed courtesy a thirteen year old.

Siege warfare (trumpeting)
average joe biden his time
linkedin with aberrant behavior
transpires within me mind,
(not just today August 27th, 2024,
but everyday/365)
warrants depleting stockpile arsenal
constituting exhausting mental health
uprooting deep seated repellent pesky
daunting lost cause.

Overruled by irrational thoughts,
I feebly muster a lame duck
half quacked comeback
(think home team cheering at pep rally)
against analogous figurative agents provocateur
said nemesis bore down hard
upon sense and sense abilities
mine psyche undergoing
blistering, hectoring withering, et cetera
courtesy ghost of Emily Brontë
mailer daemons flitting to and fro,
hither and yon within wuthering heights.

Another necessity Emma gin)
awoke prided prejudice
plus sense and sensibility
to confront head on
after trimming back the tresses
beastie boy foo fighting (Irish,
no matter genealogy regarding
yours truly Eastern European)
mine talking head housing
private insane asylum.

Incomprehensible thought processes
chronically spin out of control
dictate mandate NOT to wash hair
until at least one week passage of time,
(an arbitrarily chosen number
i.e. seven days convenient block)
even if appearance looks unkempt, slovenly
grungy, et cetera as nirvana seeking guy.

Thus, I readily admit self held hostage,
whereby loopy thought provoking patterns
hopelessly, grimly, futilely find me surrendering
NEVER eradicating down battened ramparts
neurotic, lunatic approved, idiotic
mind mental chattering
babbling jabbering gibberish
housing concocted village people
dead set against shampooing oily locks.

Quite a tussle (think metaphorical hair pulling)
ensues within me scrambled noggin,
whereby pathetic psychotic pummeling
win knows scrimmage
scoring touchdown amidst
teaming muted brouhaha
allowing, enabling, and providing
harmlessly insane nettlesome
pesky skewed notions
ridiculous leeway to predominate
until yours truly USDA
qualified, hashtagged, certified...
as grateful dead among human league.

I generally mean mine mien mental state
moost occasions heavily marinated stupor
long established as external trait
psychologically time tested trooper
impossible mission to kickstart sanity
doppelgänger regularly revisits his soul asylum
hellbent antimatter he cannot vitiate
despite therapeutic laxative merely exhausts
well bred literate smoking doobie brother
eliminating aforementioned pablum
witnessed courtesy one floundering grouper
among plenty of fish schooled
hyphenated (high finned haggled)
burn hushed scaled poem
courtesy one unionised rebellious party pooper.

Spellbound with colossal mental grippe
(i.e. all-consuming figurative cerebral
obsessive compulsive forced membership)
magnetic resonance imaging
indicated jagged blip
and/or nsync microscopy
showed telltale genetic authorship
regarding above stated mental health crisis,
whereby Sigmund Freud analyst did flip
lid freeing leeches imported courtesy Philip
Hansel and Gretel a mere slip
o' lass, whose nose she always did turnip.

exuding suave debonair air
plus head and shoulders taller
(than the empire state building -
hey what's a little hyperbole, eh?)
since September eleventh
two thousand and twenty four,
which date marked a major change
(yes folks - more important
than getting married)

during threescore and two years
incorporating mein kampf
voluntarily (and without bribery,
but with liberty and justice for all)
to maintain a scheduled appointment
at Salon Nova,
an upscale hair cutting/styling boutique
located at 377 W Ridge Pike A,
Limerick, Pennsylvania 19468.

This recently unkempt
aging married sexagenarian
and solitudinarian sultan of swing
long haired pencil neck geek
self adopted behavior modification
particularly regarding maintaining
personal hygiene of mine
woke as if from somnambulant state
and kept promise to himself.

About twelve inches of brown tresses
got cut off courtesy in a small number
of fell swoops videre licet,
whereby the beautician
amazingly gracefully brandished scissors and brush
immediately creating lightness of being
which locks of brunette strands
tinged with gray
got donated to a charity
that repurposes hair

into wigs for various
and sundry purposes,
thus empowered
to contribute a part of myself
that will grow back -
(yet... I WILL NOT GO BACK
thank you Kamala Harris for birthing phrase
TO PRESENTING SLOVENLY APPEARANCE)
in gentle waves
cascading down to my knees
as happened umpteen times

during mein kampf,
the first instance
of revolutionary physical transformation
occurred when yours truly
a mere stripling of a pubescent teen
receiving psychiatric treatment
from Ted Goldberg,
(who prescribed both mellaril and elavil),
and he patiently nursed psyche of mine
severely afflicted with anorexia nervosa

in tandem with
obsessive compulsive disorder
tied with exaggerated fixation with hair,
which characteristic donning my noggin
became the most important reason for living,
I would sooner have died than get a haircut,
(spoiler alert, I did not die nor **** myself),
yet interestingly enough
he accompanied me
to a local barber in Collegeville,

who did the deed done dirt cheap,
yet I invariably returned to being
a long haired pencil neck geek
plodding along the boulevard of broken dreams,
where according to Fiona Apple
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
Than the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More Than Ropes Will Ever Do.

All kidding aside,
said voluntary makeover undertaken
cause unnecessary emotional energy
and quite a chunk of time
invested lavishly shampooing hirsute pate,
and subsequently applying blow dryer
to fluff up ample mane,
that gnarly retched ma tailbone - ha!

Another significant reason
spurring long overdue decision
to present a handsome chap,
albeit modesty prevents excessive
self adulation, ******* (not premature),
ego inflation, amplitude
and attitude modulation of same
to disallow being snickered at
as if I happen to be from Mars.

Sorry keeping a figurative straight face
impossible mission for this word punster,
jokester, and grandmaster without a super plan.

Yours truly (me) made long overdue transition
from schlep to mensch