Life is a segway
If you let God handle it
It balances out.

Please don’t fall in love with me.
I know you think that you want to
But I have met myself and I can assure
You that it really is not what you think
You’re getting yourself into,
Regardless of what you may believe.

Please don’t ignore me for days on no end.
I understand that I can be annoying
And have too much energy one day, and
None at all the next day,
That I speak the truth and that
Most of the time, I’m not all that kind.

Please don’t tell me that I’m smart.
I know that it doesn’t make sense to someone like you,
Who really is quite the genius;
But I have only ever been called that
And once you call me that, too,
I will forever be in fear of letting you down.

Please don’t call me pretty.
Flowers are pretty. And I would make a very ugly flower.
Were you to call me pretty,
Then I would think that
I stand a chance in this world
And we both know that’s not true.

Please don’t ask me about myself.
I know this is a stupid request
Since I ask you about yourself
And listen as you talk about yourself,
But I don’t want to tell you something
If you were never ready to listen.

Please don’t tell me I have nice handwriting.
I get it, you just want me to know there’s a
Legitimate reason that you’ve
Been staring at what I’ve been writing,
Yet, all I can think of is that you accidentally
Read some of it and are disgusted with it all.

Please don’t tell me that it will all work out.
Believe me, I have told myself that
Enough times to know that it
Simply isn’t true, and I’m betting that
You also have told it to yourself enough to know
That it really doesn’t work that way.

Please don’t make general statements.
I get it, if it’s simply a segway into something more
But it is rarely a segway into something more.
If it is not leading to something else,
Then I’d rather you say nothing at all
So I don’t ponder what exactly you meant.

Please don’t ask how my day went.
I know that you don’t care
How my day went and
Really just want an excuse
To tell me exactly how
Your day went.

Please don’t ask if I want to talk about it.
If I wanted to talk about it,
Then, trust me on this one,
I actually would talk about it;
Maybe not with you, as you’d like,
But I’d talk about it, with someone.

Please don’t make me think that we’re friends.
Whether it’s logical or not to you,
I actually take that quite seriously
And do not like it when
I get lied to about something like that,
Especially something as important as that.

Please don’t return the cold shoulder I give you.
I know that I should be able to take the
High road, since I’m asking that
From you, at least sometimes I do
Take the high road, and so since I’d do it for you
Can you get off your high horse and do it for me, too?

Please don’t cut me off in the middle of a sentence.
I know, I know, we all get really excited about what we have to say,
Sometimes forgetting that a conversation
Has to go two ways in order to work.
But I always think no one cares,
And that only proves it: that you don’t care.

Please don’t tell me how I’m feeling.
I know how I’m feeling
And I know that you cannot know
How it is that I feel
Because you are not I
And just because you say it doesn’t make it true.

Please don’t tell me what I’m thinking.
Yes, I get it, you really mean well,
You’re simply just trying to help.
But I didn’t need someone to help me think
I have been left alone to my own devices
For far too long to even need something like that.

Please don’t point out when I need help.
If you really think I need help
Then please, feel free to actually help me,
Because just standing there,
Telling me that I could use some help
Doesn’t actually help me out one bit.

Please don’t tell me what I cannot do.
I have faced enough issues
Of not being able to do things
Based on things that were
Completely out of my control.
No need to make me think of those.

Please don’t tell me that it could be worse.
I’m fully aware that it could be worse
And do not need someone I
Barely know and have
Rarely ever talked to, to
Re-state common knowledge.

Please don’t tell me a lie to comfort me.
I don’t want to hear your wonderful lie.
I know that we’re all quite good at lies,
Especially when they’re to comfort.
But I will never be a fan of a lie,
No matter how noble it’s intent.

Please don’t tell me that you love me.
I know, everyone would ****
To be told that, and here I am,
Refusing that which you want.
But I will say I love you too
And you won’t get how much that took.

Please don’t tell me that you care.
I think that you don’t realize
That I may actually expect you
To become concerned about the
Simplest of things and the boring ones,
Not just the drastic ones that impact you, too.

Please don’t tell me that you want to help.
I appreciate the thought,
However selfish it may actually be.
But I would never want to
Inconvenience you by asking for
Something as useful as your help.

Please don’t guilt trip me into anything.
I understand that this is sometimes
All that others have left you as an option,
But you can simply ask me,
Or better yet, straight up tell me.
I’ll be more willing to help you, then.

Please don’t tell me you’re sorry.
I quite honestly don’t care one bit
If you’re sorry or if you’re not,
See, I care what you’re going to do next,
Because it matters more where you go
Than where you came from.

Please don’t become my friend.
I know that I really could use one,
But you seem like such a nice guy
And I don’t want to do something silly
Like fall for you in the process
And ruin everything good we had going for us.

Please don’t ignore my advice.
You’re going to think
That I’m making it all up,
That I don’t have a clue
About that which I tell you.
But ignoring me hurts us both.

Schwinny, Baby,
You were supposed to be

my

Bicycle.

So I don't ask for anthing special.
No dark Harley divas
To whisk me off into the sunset.

But I thought we were at least
On the same road together.
So please.
Don't go droaning on how
Life got too complicated.
I mean,
You've got one flimsy gear.
And don't go moaning how
The road got too bumpy.
I mean,
You went blind bonzai batshit
over burnt black tar pavement.

You just
Let go.
Threw away your
Chain of reasoning
Faster than I could brace for impact.

So am I bleeding?
Yeah, I'm bleeding.

And the worst part is,
I still need you!
No, No, no.
Not like Pom Pom pammy
Needs her purple-plated pogo stick
Nor like Princess Paris
And her prissy pink prom queen limo,

No.
I mean I need I need you like
Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel,
Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot.

Because work is 37. Blocks. Away.
And it starts in 16 minutes.
And the bus is really unreliable.

So we ride again,
Guts against the wind.
But now I've got all ten fingers and toes
Crossed,
Two by two,
And point in fact,
Racing down Guadalupe with
Forked Philanges
Gets really hairy.

But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me.
Your thirst to incur first degree burns,
Fractured femurs,
And flayed skin whittles my patience
To tire track thin!

Think I'll
Roll my dice with a Segway.
She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl.
Type to show off
To a Mom and Dad
Reveling in rosemary jubilation.
Aw, son.
We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy.

But in ten days tops,
I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath.
I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that
Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat.

So let's just say,
I'll give it one more shot.
But *****, just promise you'll stick around a little longer.
It's storming outside and
We both got a few blocks to go.

Nuns riding the Segway
What are they doing today?

It has been many moons since these translucent eyes set forth the bellowing cries of a whispered hymn. The cries of those long since forgotten, briefly heard, myopic, blind to the background sound of our nestled unruly world. The white noise that paints the landscape continually resetting itself in a desperate attempt to regain its foothold in our lives. It is this fight for free reign that forever brings me here. Brings me to each infinitesimal moment in life where we as the white noise fight for dominance over our subconscious realm.

Leery of what we experience with our senses and what we experience with the extensions of. Touching everything with our nothing making sure that the existence that we live is not just a state of mind but an actuality. We are self-altruistic, in this i am sure, for we care about the well being of ourselves. No state of mind left behind this is our status quo. Let it be that no mirror binds you to your own failures nor to those that look onto from a distance. Let you be your own shadow let your own shadow not be a former representation of what is but what's to come. Let your shadow be effectively that of which you strive. Let the shovels of ill will be fated to bury themselves hand in hand with those that foster it. Stand firm in your position overcome only by the mountains of your own design.

These peaks scream out echoes of your hate and shame not for you, nay. Not for I, nay. but for those that challenge what you stand for because the earth beneath our feet stands for everyone. stands stained with bloodied tears that rained down from our glorified manufactured heaven. This epoch marks the second coming of our custom, individualized, patent-pending, rights reserved, copyrighted Christ; our self-proclaimed god. self-proclaimed because we are the gods we seek, we ignore, and we pray for. the effervescent pool of life reads no running so we segue our way on this Segway to take advantage of the loopholes we ourselves placed as if only to cheat our fabricated reality because rebellion is refreshing and different but only when no one else is looking.

My grandfather killed himself using rerun
shows and his nephew's mullet, an egg
stuttering across        a parking lot segway
a mass suicide by the binders on a pill
tearing apart         I snapped the zipper on
my favorite hoodie that I lost my virginity
in, my favorite thing is findings 20 dollar bills
that I stored in the empty battery compartment
of my alarm clock,

a teacup filled with blood and sawdust

Foreword: I wish the notes were at the beginning. This poem is very long and tiring. I wrote it 'in an altered state' and posted it in case I wanted to read it while 'altered' again to see if I could follow it. Have fun if you do wish to read it, though. It makes zero to no sense.

I thought about writing this out,
Or seeing it on a film.
I did,  I did wonder about you,
And screens and things to look out of,
Then suddenly, ****!
I always wanted to exclaim in a poem.
Rhymes stop me at the kees, though.
Cut off I go back to writing about you...
Or why the connection is so off.
How I only have an hour to fix it,
But not an hour to tell her that I meant to get in touch.
I'm sorry to sail on hypocrisy.
With no wind, I can only watch the flow.
Streaming her words as she flies,
With her silhouette somewhat like a bird's.
Pause, and reconnect?
Under the bed of my nails... A cave.
Where my punctuation looses the track in my mind.
Or path.
Down, I'm less taken when you're gone
I'm less far gone.
I come back.
Your collar itches and I need to scratch.
Though, it rings my neck.
Another disconnect, rooted words,
Trunk of thought,
Branches grow from letters that spell.
Pull the words and gone my thoughts.
Now long are the days of a good segway.
Do you get it?.. or hit.
A drift that blows or spreads,
And burns our throats,
Like a rug, a ring, an indian.
This is crap,
I see it, I follow, and I say crap.
Taking the road less taken wouldn't work.
Everyone has done everything in the suburbs...
In my mind.
A disconnect.
Did I mention the disconnect?
A cancer generating until I run out,
Of the cells, pumping,
My mind, throbbbing.
And my fingers click,
Click, click, click, click.
I could right that all day.
For whom the bells toll!
Us!
No, a food fight won't work.
Yet, naked we came on horses.
I bought your album. It fried my hair.
I need a cream.
Smooth down my throat,
Wet like a slide...
Slip into the smoke,
And dance with me in the headlights,
Our shadows fall in line.
We've been to that party,
With tea and 3D.
Whoo, but back to class,
Where the tank is full.
And how many times must I say...
The tank is full.
Twice isn't enough.
Though it is round, but we exist in corners.
I'll never remember the sparks that lit each line.
Or why, which is,
Like that and this.
Or why can't ladies dance for me...
Why can't I yelp from rooftops?
I am woman.
Make me moan.
Any man that can and will,
Let him ***.
A mirror? No, I don't need that.
You'll judge me as I am, and I'll go from there.
It's never a ten, but I'm not a two,
And I don't stop at twice.
The speakers won't stop either, no matter how many lights we run out of for our porch.
My phone screamed again and I know that their food is important...
But so is this connection,
To me.
And paper, but we don't really need that anymore.
We don't really need me.
A green glow in your pocket.
But as long as you think you do, it'll be there. I'm always here.
Until I love you, but not in that kind of way.
Because I don't want to sound like an alarm or have the desk be written on anymore.
No, these are not metaphors or nuances,
And this couldn't be found in a mold, because no one would eat it.
...
Up until then, it was reflections.
That keep losing or failing like the kids,
Who look at the stairs to 100, but only climb til 60, because **** it.
Why should you care?
'It all comes full circle...' she said looking orange,
and like a new born millennium...
'But not like death.'
Or maybe like death,
If we're here and not there.
So build a bridge, because it's always about connections.
Or math, and numbers...
Or sweat, and long legs, or black bangs...
Or just bangs.
Or loud bangs,
That produce a black milk.
Bleed it deep, stir it seaside.
We serve with cream and call it economy,
or the hair that shines and makes us a star.
Right there.
Where I'm coming back to, always.
Because of type.
The type.
The smoke.
The grades.
The eyelid cartoons,
Or mental notes taken about them.
I almost lost it there.
But boom!
A scale tips.
Feeling worse than 9.0 points on a bulleted list,
print on my chest.
Connections may have fell down,
Where I'm putting down my head now.

a
hi
and
hello
are nice
words to
begin a chat
but sometimes
I can become a little
over-wordy preparing the
segue, pronounced Segway, aptly
named for the two wheeled transporter
in which a single person gets around like on
a dolly in the standing up position, but while all of
this clarification is going on here, I will suddenly have an
itch and scratch my nose and then I may sneeze  and
forget what it was I had wanted to say in the first
place and well, I simply just have to say some
little thing and forgive me for saying so,
and not for nothing but something
strange happened recently that
caused me to think a new
thought and the thing
that occurred to me
is that while the
poem is for
everyone,
that it's
really
for
me
and I
am not
saying that
it could not  be
for anyone else and
in fact you can have at it
but the fact remains that it
was something that sprung up
out of a certain nervousness and fatigue
it continues to almost write it-
self into something of a silly
waffling exercise of sort
which, in truth means
nada,nothing, zero,
zilch and nuttin'
however, were
it to bring a
smile or
frown
It is
ok
you
see, I
like to
think it as
part of my
creative bent
to find a pattern
and I understand
that most people may
avoid this kind of irritation
and if that is the case, please feel free
to stop right here> right here or
allow me to bring this last
thought to a proper
closing and that
it will take the
last words
to make
it look
right
for
U.

Bye!

by Ryan P. Kinney
Assembled from works by J.M. Romig and Chuck Joy

I glance out of my driver’s side window
and see a boy
trudging miserably down an expanse of windswept prairie
big sky, maybe one persistent contrail up there
establishing the general era, airplanes fly
People, still, do not

a road crosses this windswept prairie
a dirt path really with twin ruts
a boy came walking up that road many years ago
homesick from summer camp
he couldn’t be without his mother

If time is fluid, like the oceans
then maybe I’m glancing over as a wave breaks
I couldn’t tell you how many times
I made that journey on foot
my heels throbbing, my legs begging to be broken
my hitchhiker’s thumb, had given up all hope at that point

Later a teenager passed in the other direction
his essence radiating awkwardness
this long haired kid,
just turned thirteen
wore hand me down boots that are too big for his feet,
ripped jeans, and a bookbag slung across his shoulder
in the dying days of July
whispering under his breath
maybe reciting poetry
or telling himself a story
running fast, he couldn’t wait for his bright future

I think about giving him a ride
to wherever I may be going
where more drive than ride
some have stopped driving, for various reasons
some lose the ability to drive before they pass

but then I remember all the lessons I’ve learned
from time-travel movies
the one universal rule being not to meddle with the past
something about a butterfly’s wings flapping in Beijing
and a tsunami in New Orleans
so, instead I honk my horn
and the traffic light turns green

I watch the boy,
who might have been in some distant past,
look on with curious anger as the car passes
for a moment
then returns to the story already in progress

not much traffic on this path anymore
but yesterday a guy came by riding a Segway
said he was on the way to visit his mother’s grave
said she died a pioneer to this lonely country

he grows tinier and tinier
in my rear view mirror
no longer even special
here in the middle of nowhere
until he is yesterday again

Alone in my thoughts,
I stand jumping to conclusions.
Doing nothing as I was taught,
Adding to all of this confusion.
I Segway into foreplay-
But I know in this day
I’m going to feel alone
No one set on stone
To stay.
The conversation fades,
The mind detaches feeling.
If I would have stayed
I wonder if it would have
Time to be appealing.

You would think that judging by my demeanor that life was fit, a bit pop, bubbly, all is good, feel good, real good, rainbow, gum drop, sunny side up, clouds never here, lets sit down and enjoy the never fading sunset, cheers.

But no, that's not really me, see, I struggle just like we all do. I fight just like we all do. I cry, I bleed and I try just like we all do. I travel down the beaten path often with the same people who assume I segway my way through life. No, I wish but i don't. I trip some times like you don't. I've been hung up to dry. I've let me tears fly. I've screamed at the top of my lungs **** LIFE like the rest do. Off the top of these concrete mountains but I'm careful not to fall off like some do. I've walked with a limp, asked for change for a change while I wait for my check just like some do. I look happy not because I want to hide, to put up a front and sell my good pickings. I have no shame in who I am and how I came about. I have no shame in the ladder I'm climbing or the shoes that I wear though when it comes to the latter it's not really a choice, I swear. I'm not a liar or a fake what you see is what you get.

I'm up front and what I said is what I meant, I'm up front. I dwell but I don't set up camp that's why im happy. I dislike but I don't hate that's why I'm happy. I sulk but I keep my back straight that's why I'm happy. I examine but I put the magnifying glass away that's why I'm happy. I'm happy but I'm not ignorant I know my place. I'm happy because life is amazing just look around. I'm happy because of the things we have. Check out this site, look what I found. You don't have to go far to find something amazing in this world. Just open your eyes. This is why I'm happy.

I believe it to be
an impasse we have become
the segway between
two paths that
end up in the
same place

feel the sand
the crunch
the curl and
hauling arms
that cling tightly
to your chilled
skin

withdraw yourself
from the segway
of your own creation

there are
other ways
to walk

do not
remove
your shoes

keep walking

whisper, whisper
is that the wind in my hair
is that your fingers tracing my scalp
are you holding me now
whisper, whisper
are you sweet
sweet as nothings
sweet sugar achy teeth
do you smell the rot beneath the sweetness
the nectar that dips low on the neck
of your heart

of the vest
you wear
so well

do not remove your shoes
do not let your feet touch dew
do not feel the goosebumps
do not feel it

keep walking

whisper, whisper
nudge, nudge
they know now
their eyes betray them
they gleam like pristine canines
a howling dislocated jaw to
let the water flood in the chest

breathe
deep
breathe

keep walking

keep your eyes straight
as a ruler
as flat as the evening sky
the orange is folded in half
it is shackled on your
hair raised biceps

you bleed orange now

it is beautiful
not scary
you are not scared any longer

keep walking

courage girl
hold your head high
tilt your neck up
it is not submission
it is not fear to show your neck
you are courage girl
you are fiery
you are sparkling
listen to the whisper that
sounds so loud in your ears

keep walking

one day you will get there

Go in headfirst
Dig deep into loves curse
Kiss her on the Ferris
once you stop at the top
Look at all the ants called people
Think about your parents
Think about how hard your hearts leakin
Think about how easy your heart is to shake.
Exposed to cold weather
Like if she wants a break-
If she says goodbye
Or finds a man named Jake
Not in khakis, but your love is now a lie
Fake and dead like a skeletal prop.
Life's a cheap movie.
Like Paul Blart's Mall Cop.
And how she's smoothly moving like a segway
But she's most likely improving.
You're all sad and confused now.
"Say cheese" says your Mom not knowing of the abuse you take and it's cloud over all your choices and how you choose to cypher on a cheap website to make rhymes to the type of people that you don't like.
Well that's my life and I'm alright.

Today marks fourth anniversary of tragic deaths
an aching breaking heart – mine
remembers four extinguished breaths.

(dashed – not while riding off
in a white horse open sleigh,
but upon learning untimely demise
regarding prosperous family, whose small
plane crashed August 8, 2019.

They lived ~ three doors down from us
farther than one can toss a Buffalo nickelback.)

The victims included;
Jasbir Khurana, 60
(a professor of pathology
and laboratory medicine
at Temple University's
Lewis Katz School of Medicine);
Divya Khurana, 54 (a professor
of pediatrics and neurology
at the Drexel University
College of Medicine,
specializing in pediatrics, sleep) ;
and the couple's youngest daughter
Kiran Khurana 19 years old.

No words can assuage the deep sorrow,
this once upon a time neighbor
(I lived at 1148 Greentree Lane) experienced
disbelief, numbness, shock...
attendant by an irreparable loss of beloved,
and vacillated how to communicate
heartfelt (I cannot ex spleen) sympathy,
where words superfluous,
yet... if for that challenge alone,
an affinity with language

spurred impulse to focus upon
bountiness of joie de vivre
imbibed years gone by,
when every now and
again chance encounters
found yours truly (me)
in delightful company
regarding persons whose presence
imbued benevolence, kindness, warmth...
facilitating emotional philanthropy

influenced long term positive memories
to one experienced being
outcast, ostracized, offensive...
courtesy unfortunate series
of circumstances beyond my control,
which voiced unwelcome tension
sabotaged reaching quality politeness
displeased at unfriendly reactions
reflexively, maliciously, impetuously...
did little or no justice

toward conflict resolution
which altercations nearly,
quickly did segway profoundly
into unpleasant standoffs,
yes bias, bigotry, bitterness
begat bisel meshuga
acutely aware I loathe
uncouth actions regarding myself
and strive to remain
affable, cordial, friendly...,

hence an object lesson,
(albeit ex post facto)
to abide by my inner integrity,
ethos, dogma politesse...,
especially when pitted against
unsavory electric acid kool aid test
tis then urgently vital to remain
steadfast, and figuratively
turn the other cheek
particularly when populace

under severe duress
re: instigated by pathologically
belligerent, ill mannered, rude...
former president whose
set abhorrent precedence,
whereby people of nation follow suit,
yet this nonconformist only hopes
to affect positive within
webbed wide world at large.

studious skinny scruffy scribe

My utmost humblest apology
for inducing the following
cerebral calisthenics upon your cranium,
but the cost of friendship
with yours truly
(me – a foo fighting,
eagle eyed, beatle browed, beastie boy  
christened Matthew Scott Harris)
doth newt come
like some hootie and the blowfish
super tramping
cheap trick linkedin to
wings at the reo speed wagon
spinning zz top soundcloud.

Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,

savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,

somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning *******,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric

screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,

sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,

sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,

shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting

spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid

skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.

(a poor excuse for legs),
and get me the latest
sophisticated prosthetics advancements,
whereat integration of cultured stem cells
into custom made appendages
allows, enables, and provides
unfortunate recipients of amputations
to experience sensations.

No more will yours truly
(skinny legged sexagenarian)
envy amputees fitted with smart limbs
equipped tricked out arms and legs,
cuz he will be proud owned
with false limbs
(mainly legs, I did not decide
about equally spindly arms)
finding a once nasty, short
and brutish solitary
Norwegian bachelor farmer
transformed into a very charming, tall
and humane debonair troubadour
rivaling the likes of any swain.

No insult meant
for those handicapped,
who experience(d) phantom limb
perhaps linkedin to
fierce near mortal kombat,
wondering if stayin alive
after surviving serious wombs
that killed fellow combatants
trying your darndest
to feel worthy earning a purple heart,
(a distinguished military decoration
awarded in the name of the President

those who got wounded or killed
while serving in the U.S. armed forces),
with attendant laurels such as
handsome veteran benefits,
answering the call of duty
nevertheless daily reminders
being survivor as a foreigner
waging war, when host country
loathed American military as infidels,
whose countrymen bathed
innocent defenseless civilians
in blood of barbarity.

Stop saying sassy sobriquets schooled
***** spindleshanks...
studious skinny scruffy scribe.

Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic

sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning *******,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,

sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled self secluded sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,

self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,

shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting Schwenksville schnorrer.

despite entrenched familiar
obsessive compulsive disorder behavior
distracting me courtesy
countless what if scenarios,
particularly before undergoing
voluntary drastic makeover
as iterated in a previous poem,
and briefly recounted here
as foregoing Samson personification
now please don't blame Delilah!

Once the decision made
(two weeks ago
September twenty fifth
two thousand and twenty four)
to finally liberate yours truly (me)
(cue the following
Jean Jacques Rousseau quote)
"Man is born free but everywhere is in chains"
accommodating torture chamber
ala complex edifice,
(albeit invisible) *******

as tangible substitution
for undersized male member
(Sigmund Freud would be smiling)
heavily weighing down mine psyche
from harried styled
uncombed/unbrushed hair
evoking an immediate
message of nonconformity,
at last fixation nipped in the bud
immediately after beautician
rubber banded and scissored

hirsute trademark feature, a characteristic
larded with immense security
unequivocally not only
constituting a major emotional sink,
(but additionally posing environmental danger
as a potential superfund site)
long overdue for cleanup
hyperbole incorporated
to jump/kick start courtesy
tipping figurative hat
to faux generative artificial intelligence,

which amazingly
immediately delivered segway
vis-à-vis refreshing lightness of being
after bird's nest gratefully shucked off
loosed a horde
of dreadlocked exhausting fretfulness
(in addition to a rash of undiscovered biota)
linkedin to catastrophization,
whether the water
would unexpectedly cease flowing
while richly shampooing shock

of prized tangled mane,
or the electricity
would suddenly witness a power outage
disallowing the hair dryer to function
such irrational worries
(despite the unlikelihood
of either unexpected
inconvenience to occur),
nevertheless quite tiresome
sustaining outrageous thought patterns
exacerbated anxiety buzzfeeding

like nattering nabobs of nativity
and undermining peace of mind
when week after week, month after month
finally brought to a screeching halt
such debilitating mental exertion
suddenly ushering deliverance
videre licet a lightness of being,
and immediately allowed,
enabled and provided much
sought after psychological relief
likened to a gust of fresh air,

I vouchsafed to myself and the missus
to abide by much easier to manage
more fashionable impression,
thus swiftly tailored relief arose
once bedraggled unkempt ratty
and infrequently unwashed coiffure
shucked off once and for all,
no matter such drastic similar
transformations of appearance
peppered the life and times
of one long haired pencil necked geek,

whereat hands of time
would elapse bajillion times
inadvertently drawing unwanted attention
to out of vogue nineteen sixties hippy doo
invariable readopted as security blanket
to stave off
uncomfortable risks
foisting interpersonal experiences
upon head and shoulders
of deplorable basket case
unwittingly referenced from Hillary Clinton.

to become affianced to the grim reaper,
who never promised me a rose garden
nor crystal clear pool of fragrant delight
to accompany last living breath
before succumbing into black hole sun
re: the void of nothingness
with absolute zero remembrance of things past.

Suicidal ideation in tandem
with purposelessness
(nihilistic existentialism exponentially
increasing since my halflife ago),
and most importantly
cursed with flat limp hair,
which serious crisis undermines reason
to write reasonable poetic expression
spurs the notion to traverse consciousness,
and painlessly segway
into the hereafter
(and maybe reincarnated into a heifer)
on a broken wing and a prayer.

No glorious notion of heaven
(nor belief in some omnipotent supreme creator,
who will be instrumental
uniting those meeting their demise)
with dead souls doth explain
zealousness toward what happens to human body
very soon after they – give up the ghost
(second person singular) and die,
yet intimation fostered
linkedin to dulling senses of mine,

that allow, enable,
and provide means to see or hear,
cuz already at threescore and five
revolutions clocked around the sun
post January thirteenth
two thousand and twenty four
increased insightfulness brings to mind,
a quickening uptick courtesy senescence
whereby aural and visual deterioration occur
at what appear faster clip

than when I happened to be younger
within the lovely bones of this sensate being,
who finds himself sensitive to loud sounds
discovered audiological test administered
hearing loss at extreme high and low ranges
similarly recognizing even the largest sized letters
on the Snellen eye chart
fraught with greater difficulty
particularly without wearing corrective eyewear.

After querying Google concerning a medical term for hearing loss of high and low frequencies, the closest response came back as follows.

While there isn't a single, universally accepted term for hearing loss affecting both high and low frequencies, it would typically be described as a "mixed frequency hearing loss" or "broadband hearing loss" on an audiogram, indicating significant hearing loss across a wide range of frequencies, including both high and low tones.

Before acquiescing to the afterlife,
I bolster maximum body, mind and spirit triage
aware declining senescence
affects physical, mental and spiritual well being
what fluke roll of the genetic dice throw
wrought yours truly (me),
whose latent potential
hijacked (to Cuba) thyself,
an anomaly sexagenarian

forever stunted socially courtesy
courting The Pale Horseman
when just a lad
of approximately a dozen years
of longevity since being born
thirteen days into
the first month of nineteen fifty nine,
when according
to most Western cultural interpretations,

being born on January 13, 1959,
would not be considered
particularly auspicious or unlucky;
it's simply a regular birthdate
with no inherent positive
or negative connotations
associated with it in mainstream beliefs.

Perhaps, cuz I (the male offspring
from both deceased parents,
especially my father –
the renown Chemist B.B. Harris,
and to a slightly lesser extent
the late culinary cuisine queen
Harmit Harms Kuritsky -
the gal whose troth he pledged
while holding some
bubbling sinister looking flask in hand
on their first guinea pig type date
encouraged incurred genetic yen
that burned from without the buns of this son)
possesses a pyromaniacal streak,
no surprise cremation would be my choice
of post life treatment videlicet
mine grateful dead as a doornail
cadaver formerly yours truly.

Believe it or not, a dead doornail is actually a thing. It's a medieval carpentry term for a nail that's been “clinched” — hammered into a door with any protruding part hammered flat. It wasn't going anywhere, making the doornail “dead” and unfit for future use.