"spastic" poems
who knew that in about
4 years time,
or maybe
10,000 years lost in
10,000 multi hued tears,
id be on the same trip-
dancing to the same
shimmering inner grove as before-
braiding fresh cut
flowers-
delicate genital-hands, unfolding in prayer
into my subconscious mind
or perhaps into my hair-
saving colored prism fragments
of knowledge or nonsense-
digesting intoxicating
incense smoke into the
deep throated green streaked
laughter chasms
that are my lungs-
spinning vinyl, spun mind
unwinding, undulating
through string music-
contemplating the sunset's sweet
immaculate form, reoccuring
and balancing itself right outside my window-
dressing in shells, bones,
and beads; kaleidoscope fabric dripping from
the ******* like mother Kali in a Fellini
flick-
peeping out at heads slinking down
the ****** pavement streets-
my hairy angelic form grooving
intensely, spastic-
body flung, strung out in
hot patterns of
mirrored arms and legs-
brain brew bubbling; wicked, fantastic-
limbs waving and grabbing at
tangible tasty morsels,
smelling strongly of indigo
and patchouli-
the East smiling on me and
my intrepid journey to the ocean city-
head thrown back in
tranquil madness-
pipe smoke curling like
ancient hound howls from the corners
of my lips-
smiles spread like insanity, a wicked disease
lost in the forgotten finger painted
confounds of creamy
****** milk consciousness-
basking in lamplight
of the golden glistening
Now.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
I looked down onto the paper before me.
Adjectives scrawled all across it.
Beast, worthless, idiotic, suicidal, freak, unorganized, unintelligent, try hard, spastic, boring, arrogant, obsessive.
This went on for ages, at least a hundred negative words against myself on it.
I looked down at the paper as a tear rolled down my face. I crossed out the adjectives. I smiled and flipped it over, and on the back I wrote a note.
"There are many things I can be describe as... Though, those are not adjectives I would use... But the best I could say? Healing."
I looked down toward the paper and smiled.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
It's like a diamond stake pushed through the silence of my brain
It's like a thunder of voices coming down like a hurricane
It's like a forest of gunfire blowing past my bedroom door
It's like the force of a god pushing down on my floor
Whip smart, by all accounts, but lost beneath the sheets
Forced out of a comfort zone and pushed out to the streets
Spastic changing voices like a record out of line
Just speak like you always do and don't **** with my mind
I'm like a tidal wave that only gets halfway there
No shore to erode with no Taiwan to even care
I'm like a promise left on the kitchen table after dawn
Someone will find it but it will be thrown out on the lawn
Born without a spoon but there is silver in my teeth
I'm made out of as much spirit as a plastic, clearance wreath
Dust beneath the stars cancels out the dawning sun
Shine on the bums, the prophets, everyone
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Purple, blue, pink, and green,
Waves of color fill the room.
Crisp cold air, We hide
beneath the walls of blankets.
Words spoken twice,
Spastic moments.
Hilarious pictures pinned to boards,
giggles shatter late night silence.
Tanks with treasure spilling over,
Fish swimming back and forth.
Cereal, and sometimes milk,
Wait to be eaten.
Movie nights, and roommate dinners,
Granola hostages, and hidden peanut butter.
All these things define who we are,
Roommates.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 8:30 PM UTC
saw a new woman tonight
not like that
i dont even know her name
barely had the nerve to look at her
her body so good
hair was different
face that looks cute
and left me feeling dipped ****
i couldnt help but stare
western keychain the only remembrance
why do i want her so bad
our eyes did the shmoney dance
spastic but seeming to enhance
my thirst of the if
the how did we both get here
am i the only one feeling this
or is this just a girl
not a blur
i was on pre workout and was probably just creeping
after all
who out of any of us can saw they can sing like the weeknd
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Someone’s got it in for me
Cause I’m not symmetrical
Tried to tell them what I think
Cause what it is I’ll never know
Spotlight makes my skin crawl
Just like their flawless tactics
Never meant anyone harm, but
Chemicals unwrapped my lips of plastic
What a strange sensation
When the devil really makes you do it
What am I paying for
I swear, the devil made me do it
Someone’s got it in for me
Cause I’m not balanced
Tried to tell them what I think
Amid shredded calendars
Wish my heart had a radar
So maybe I could make them see
If faced with such evidence
What would you think if you were me
To top off the weird union
Was a glimpse of a picture
You bet your life he showed you off
As a conquered freak in the tincture
Spent years crawling under rocks
Paranoid and spastic
Then one horrid night
Chemicals unwrapped my lips of plastic
What a strange sensation
When the devil really makes you do it
What am I paying for
I swear, the devil made me do it
I went out of my body
Then I went out of my mind
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
How can he be so cocky, fight like rocky
talking in morse code, like a walkie talkie
how can he be so cold, like an ice cube to hold
so bold like a robot that can't be controlled
how can he be so sarcastic, ******* spastic
no fantastic antics seen in plastic
won't bend and won't stretch like elastic
doing flips like a drastic gymnastic
possessed with true ability, like a runners agility
but no flexibility when it comes to futility
a never seen utility with no docility
showing capability, breaking through the fragility
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
Tripping past windows,
turning to look but missing the image
(I’m going too fast)
too slow
I’ll never make it
not like this
Heart pierced
by each short, asthmatic breath
by each spastic, hazardous thought of you
I’m late
(for a very important date)
very important, even though it doesn’t exist
(this is all in my mind)
a silly dream I play out to calm myself
running down that road with a goal in mind,
a goal ready to leave at any moment
but because this is my dream
I make it all happen
(just the way I want it)
Maybe in real life, the train would pull away
ten minutes (ten seconds) before I arrive
but in my mind, I get there just in time
to wrap you in my arms
and pull you back.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
I am standing
at the mirror
loving every scarred
unruly thread unraveling
in this breathing tapestry
it wasn’t my fault
what happened to me
my patterns were scored
long before I knifed them in
over and over again
picking people and paths
to validate my false hypotheses
unworthy kept me from
letting you love every one
of these holy spastic molecules
until I loosed grip
on erroneous
self-loathing
and I am so sorry
I really needed you
but I couldn’t let you
be there for me
because I wasn’t
and now,
here I am…
scoping silver under glass
making silly faces for me
blowing kisses at myself
and giving a little wink
over my shoulder
as I walk out
able to embrace
the wild unknowns
that await me
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 1:26 PM UTC
I travelled straight west
to the epicentre of the southern wastelands
and 'twas with mind-numbing disbelief that
I found an Oak table propped upon the sands
and it was not alone either
for three beings sat it, seemingly nonplussed -
one was a skinny old man
wearing a linen suit faded and powdered with dust
his collar frayed around the edges
a moth-eaten hat sat upon his head,
he had a daisy poking from his breast pocket
so very much preserved, so very much dead,
to his left sat a one-eyed Hare
the sole eye ecstatic and wiggling -
he swore and blasphemed each time the man spoke
from a mouth toothless and dribbling,
sat to the right of the man
was absolutely (absolutely!) nothing,
however I observed with mild humour
that both man and Hare were convinced it must be something
for the man was profusely adamant
scorning the Something for dissing the Hare's hair,
although the Hare was too busy rolling around its one eye
to even notice the man, or simply give a fu- care
"Hey hey talk to I! Hath thou seen my missing eye?!"
Hare asked from a voice shrieky and shattered
saliva running in rivets
upon the table it slopped and slavered -
then suddenly the man started singing encore
his voice cringe-worthy, out of tune,
sounding like a cat back-broke and on steroids
rocking and waving like a spastic-loon;
"If Father Time has no end,
does he even have a beginning -
oh, if there's pain is there gain,
which one of us is it that's winning?"
alas, that's when my attention was brought to the mounds
of surgical needles cluttered on the ground,
feeling sickly aura lick the back of my throat
I started backing away without a sound
["Hey hey talk to I -"]
["If there's pain is there gain -"]
["Hath thou seen my missing Missing MISSING EYE?!!"]
#FLASH!#
the dystopian landscape around me melted
into a field of bloated poppies -
serene, scarlet and blinding 'neath the sun,
feasting upon our charred bodies.
AJ
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
Custom made world
All made of plastic
Counting twist or turns
Everything is spastic
High definition views
Playing with our eyes
In a different place
Reality is a crime
Trapped in our electronics
We can not walk a line
Children with no manners
Living is a lie
Spoiling our ambitions
Charging everyday
Respect is really lost
Pictures are to say
Transmissions cross the airspace
Signaling the cost
Humanity is all but broken
Everything is lost
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Doc, I've been trying to deal with these issues for quite sometime to no avail;
A good friend of mine (you may know him, Elmer Fudd) recommended you.
I fear I will never be able to eat, let alone catch this turbo inspired example of flightless foul;
Stuck in this celluloid world vividly inspired by an Emmy award winning colorist.
I am a proud animal from generations of fine breeding, born in the pristine coyote valley;
I am not stupid, not a fool or buffoon, and so I thought contractually, not one to be laughed at.
And I, always the bad guy, constantly daunted in pursuit by haphazard ACME products;
Expensive, bulky, time consuming, they characteristically fail right before they almost work.
Rocket powered skates, unfortunately, only allow me to kiss the cliff-side really really hard;
Very heavy anvils serve no other purpose than to be dropped on my head repeatedly.
The incredulous manipulations of the impossible by the so clever writers of this farce;
From trains appearing out of nowhere to run me over, to fierce lightning storms in an instant.
Laying there in the release of my own bowels as the uncontrollable result of
500 Megajoules of energy traveling through my body yet again.
I am the twice electrified mass of dribbling spastic protoplasm
Personified proverbially in that lightning does indeed strike twice in the same place!
As the smoke arises from my chard hairy frame and I sweep up my ashes to reassemble later;
I realize Doc, I'm losing my grasp on the reality of ever succeeding, I need your help!
I'm still hungry;
And still I have not caught that **** Road Runner,
**** you Warner Brothers!
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
The clock is ticking its cardiac arrest,
minds fall into the spastic timing.
Well, my eyes are falling.
Whisper lashes on my cheeks
not my own.
A panther's sigh on a leopard's side
Little girl step into your woman shoes.
I keep my smile above the painted ruse
their lungs filling with icy air,
turning my words to vapor.
Rainbow arching over my head,
lead me to your futuristic *** of gold.
Is that feathers tickling the skin of my arms
or is that your hair?
Make the ceiling your ocean.
Salty smells
just sail away
Just when I think I've conquered the shadowy mockingbird in my mind,
my heart jumpstarts at false thunder rolls.
Tongue, decide between blood and caramel.
Run, you little fears as fast as you can
so I can bend over to pick some flowers.
Watch my dreams travel into your eyes,
I've fallen into their velvet hole.
Spaces are filled,
branches bending,
As my feet pound the dirt back where it belongs.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:55 AM UTC
My temples pummel out
A throbbing skull
Drumming on my edges
Cracked bruises
Hidden underneath my hair
No one sees my pain
Feeling dismissed by perceived delusions
Neglect brings forth intensified loneliness
A mystery unable to solve
Potential brain damage
Resting in purgatory
Along the coastline of denial
Where I appear all right
Until another concussion
Drags me to this tide
Wanting to end my life
As I drown to the chilly depth
Wondering why my husband
Hasn't thrown me a life jacket
He tires of my imperfections
As do I….
Severity thrown under
The boat of exaggeration
No one understands my head's sensitivity
Not even me
The judgements of being weak
Of not being careful
Arguments against enjoying life
I am brought to a surplus of cries
Aching sobs swim
In my damaged head
I'm confused and lines are blurred
I'm scared and can't remember
Noises storm
Inside my ears transmitting corruption
Comatose movements
Ambushed by swelling spastic vibrations
Blinding light
Striking serrated razors between my eyes
Weighted head
Seeks detachment from its guardian
How I wish people saw this concussion for what it is
© Jl 2016
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
*the lotus floats on waters
silhouettes dance in spastic-joints
a sombre-figure with a spiky do
cavorts behind invisible-mirrors
which reflect the lost motions of unchaperoned-pedestal
in corrugated-shadows*
don’t forget to lift that hem a little higher, lady
and give over to the pulsing rhythm
undo your leather-strap, it’s enough to whip out some frenzy
do what you want: you’re not awake, anyway
what have gone and done, dear girl?
is true-love to be found in the arms of a bearded Japanese?
yes, open that white blouse of yours with the silky-buttons on
while your eyes pearl-glaze over attending-cliffs
hold that slow-unfolding palm over your breast and
let busy aglet-fingers shake loose some nuciferous-reward
stems hold up sweet-flora and its waiting-petals
the gyrations match the ripped-space in your ceilinged-heart
slow-motion coy-boy on stand-by in heated-debate
where stickety-words carry the burden
of
knock-out honeyed-pleasure
high-pitched comes and you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be
than to fit your explosive jigsaw-piece up my nostrils
so that I can finally breathe
lithe and limber
*later, when you nod off
your dreams’ll take care of lost-thread and thorough-floss your mind
yank off the binding-straps
take it down muddy-banks into pools of upside-down sky
and the only light will be the reflected-glint of moon
as it winks its very firm OK*
S T – 21 nov 13
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC
I'm as clever as a bag of wet cats when it comes to jokes
dumb as a stump
thick as a brick, dense as a sack of hammers
accurate as a spastic
as sharp as a **** heap
as refined as an oil spill
elegant as a heap of a sot passed out spread-eagle in some gutter
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
I WANT TO TEASE YOU, TEASE YOU I SHALL, YOU ARE SPASTIC, DUDE I HATE YA
HANG ON, YOUR NOT LIKE YOUR NANNA, LET’S TEASE THIS SHYPERSON, BUDDY
HE IS FALLING ASLEEP, TEASE THIS SHY PERSON
I SAID, I WILL FALL ASLEEP, YA SEE, I WILL FALL ASLEEP, AND ALLOW YOU TO TEASE ME WITH THE COSMOS
YOU SEE, LET’S TIE THE SHYPERSON UP, AND THROW HIM TO THE ALIENS’
YEAH, I AM HAVING FUN TEASING BRIAN ALLAN DEAR CHILD
YOU SEE, I CAN SEE THE MEDICATION MAKING YA TIRED
YOU SEE, ATHENA CAME UP AND PUT METHANE IN MY MOUTH AND TOLD THIS DWEEB THAT
YOU REALLY CAN FIX YA TEETH IN THE COSMOS, IF YA TAKE THE RIGHT MEDICATION
I SAID, I AM WATCHING SOME SNACK OFF COOKING SHOW, IT’S PRETTY RADICAL
IT’S ABOUT THE LATE NIGHT SNACKS PEOPLE HAVE, AND WHO CAN MAKE THE BEST MEAL
THE TEASER SAID, TRY AND BE LIKE YOUR NANNA, CAUSE YOUR NOT LIKE YA NANNA
YA LIKE US, CAUSE YA HOUSE IS MESSY, I AM SURE OF IT
BRIAN ALLAN SAID, CAN YOU LET ME GO, AS HE WAS TIED UP IN THE NEPTUNE PUB
BY OSAMA BIN LADEN AND THE GUY WHO NICKED HIS LINCH IN THE 1970S
IT’S THE ONLY WAY TO GET HIM, REALLY, WELL, IT’S NOT, BUT NOBODY WANTS TO, YA KNOW DO HARM
YA SEE BRIAN JUMPED UP AND SAID, **** OFF, YA NOT GETTING ME, YA ****
AND THEN THE GUY WHO NICKED MY LUNCH SAID, NO BUDDY, YOU ARE WITH ME FOREVER
WE’LL MAKE YOU TIRED, AND THEN SEND YOU TO HELL, WHICH IS THE SUN
BUT EVERYONE SLEEPS THEIR WAY TO FIGHT THE PERSON WHO IS KILLING BRIAN WHERE THEY WANT HIM
YOU SEE THEN SLIM DUSTY SAID I GUESS IT’S LONESOME AWAY FROM YOUR KINDRED AND ALL
FROM THE DUSTY OUTBACK TO THE GREAT CONCERT HALL,THERE IS NOTHING QUITE LIKE A DRINK WHICH
IS MORBID OR DREAR, IT’S SITTING PLAYING POOL IN A PUB WITH NO BEER
I AM GOING BACK AGAIN TO NEPTUNE PUB, YEAH, NEPTUNE PUB, YEAH WHERE WE HAVE FUN, YEAH
WE’RE GOING BACK AGAIN TO NEPTUNE PUB, THE PLACE WITH THE MOST METHANE SMOOTHIES, YEAH
I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BRIAN, I WOULD LOVE TO DRINK BEER WITH HIM
WE DRINK IN MODERATION, DUDES, AND NEVER, NO NEVER, GET ROLLING DRUNK
WE DRINK ALL OVER THE COSMOS, WHERE THE ATMOSPHERE IS SUPERB
I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BRIAN, CAUSE THAT’S FAR FROM ABSURD
AND THEN BARRY ALLAN CAME UP AND SANG 1 2 3 4 YOU SCHITZOPHRENIC, FROM YA FIRST DIAGNOSIS TO YA CURRENT SITUATION
WITH MEDICATION, YOU CAN GET REFORMED, OH YEAH MATE YEAH YOUR SCHITZOPHRENIC
DAD SAID, I AM NOT GOING YOUR LIKE ME AND MUMMY, ANYMORE, DON’T BE SHY BRIAN, TEASE MY NEXT LIFE’S NAME
I CAN UNDERSTAND WHY YOU TEASE, ME, BUT DON’T FORGET THAT GIRLS AND BOYS ARE EQUAL, OK
THEN THE GUY THAT NICKED MY LUNCH SAID, OK, WE’LL LEAVE YA ALONE, YA NOT LIKE US, BUDDY, OK
JUST REMEMBER, ME, IF YA EVER TRY TO BE LIKE US, YOU WHEN YA LIVED IN WOODBERRY, I’LL TEASE YA AGAIN, OK
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
summer sky aloft
a massive cloud bank disbands
lacing into gills
wind huffs make spastic punches
cooling my agitation
May 25, 2022
May 25, 2022 at 9:24 PM UTC
Walking in with high hopes
I knew that I’d fall
A cushioned landing waited below
Skin shreds with every reach, pull, and hang
Fingers bleed and sweaty palms
Slide and scrape against the rocks
The climb left me before I left the wall
With numbness in my hands and my toes,
But mostly my cheeks disfigured by nails
Pinning up a spastic smile
You had no belayer obligation
No rope tied on
My harness to your grip
A concrete landing waited below.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC
I wanted to kiss
her knee-- a sharp
edged, angular,
comic book, superwomen
clean cut, streamlined
down to tapered calf,
to pointing toe-type knee.
Hers wasn't a square
worker's padded joint
for kneeling down.
Under sheet and pillow
I once found it
giggling with spastic
warnings!
Her knee was ticklish!
My heart never did
smooch her there,
fearing some reflexive,
paroxysmal laughter
would kick me in mouth.
Ouch. No kisses on the knee.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
i feel what i feel
with such depth and aching despair
my chest is caving in
at times; i am filled with water
i'm a finely tuned banjo
in a sea of horned instruments
and no one wants to play me
or open me up
i'm so closed up
but on days when the mania is gone,
the depression isn't so bad anymore
i have my lovers and
the pills i eat with dinner
work
i'm swallowing down my pride
paying attention and trying to decide
where i can hide my nervous sighs
when i'm in a room of people
and still feel alone
i needed a break
i don't know how to find that
exactly
without the dependence
of chemicals
i am pursuing a lighter path
will it impress you?
my muscles ache
my heart aches
my brain... it aches
finding a way to end a poem
when you're still sad
is the hardest part
of trying to cope
positively
i can't end here either
because then anxiety swoops in
like a hawk
or some other bird she named
when we were under the trees
i'm swimming in a pool
of bad nostalgia
and beautiful synchronicities
i'm so sick of
the ups and downs
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
I am flabbergasted, ashamed, and angry after philosophy homework
which straight up flabbergasts myself because I’ve always questioned everything
after reading a selection of Seneca’s letter’s ( ancient spanish philosopher)
Spastic Fury is an understatement
I understand this was written in a different time period
but I have to discuss this **** in class.
**** like why crying is for the weak or
how practicing habits less fortunate
than one is subordinate to
will strengthen thy noble soul for future preparation of fortune/misfortune
blah blah blah
I get all of that **** I understand the validity of living a pure,
un-judgemental, strong willed life.
what I can’t get out of my OCD head
is all of the **** I’ve been through
that was and continues to be detrimental to my sanity
and no it’s not out of vanity you naive ******
it’s called PTSD and it can be debilitating.
I know this portion of reading is designed for
the average freshman unsoiled mind, free from
trauma and full of promise but I’m not your average person.
I never will be
I remember the times I didn’t want to be a ******* person
and those moments remain anchored right on top of my mangled innocence.
Seneca claims crying is a form of selfish weakness
I claim crying is stronger than taking a razor to the skin
crying is stronger than puking until you’re dizzy
crying is stronger than getting high until you can’t
remember why you started crying
in the first place
It took me 17 years and disgusting amounts of therapy
to accept my hurricane emotions are not a form of weakness
because everything I feel is a million times more real
than the ******** we hear, see, or talk about
I know tragedy occurs everywhere to anyone
unfortunate enough to be there
but in terms of my salvation
there is an expiration date on
how long I can play in the sand before I’m choking
and gasping “i’m sorry’s” in-between scratchy breaths
I knew college would be hard,
but at least in group therapy
there was actual motivation to speak up
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
chaos served on dishes
by the vicious delicious
so avoid the superstitious
and get iconoclastic with plastic
get drastic and spastic
get with the apple
who'll hypnotize the people
with yet another new system
that will raise the rhizome
shoving light through a prism
destroying lay idealism
into straight discordianism
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
Terrible divides, steep creatures fishing from the fissures.
Devil ties, honor cries telling of fable able love lies.
Red rug **** from… Ah stomp down pound twice round.
Let me in dearth harp melody killing me true internally. Over me, you do du thee or in one to learn to unseen these say said twas. What then spoke big loud a proud voice e bound red to set the turns in a state of decay. Spread death red pestilence.
Broken brains with bad temperaments. To know this clever myth, in definitely one word siphon spell check commiserate in-consumption
Only fitting to continue after that, twas broken in two-tone spits of *****
Oh how one can be so indiscriminate, yet be so in to it
Suckling finger to finger, the artist and his soul slip through one another
And **** there it is… why I am drunk, why so earthbound?
No, No, that la-la-di-dah sing song, nickname, sick game
Ah… already this is where I end, lying before the gate, spread in sprawls of my final death thrall, the spastic convictions, emotional token, so wholly holy that I am certain of this and this alone; they, folk of blend and contrast so steady will carrier this body through the gates, this world or that, bounce and then back, splendor in form, surrender to utter the weight of universal, expressions in the shade of totality
Goodnight too.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
Santa Claus is 100% pure love
his heart does not divide
the starved and homeless man with his tin cup
from the wealthy politician in his black limousine
nor does Santa ever blame
the frightened small town girl
who paints her lips and struts unsure
down hard dark streets
Santa Claus remembers his own mother
and weeps for the lonely karma of octogenarians
diapered in wheelchairs along fluorescent hallways
abandoned by the ones they birthed
our great elf winces every time
he feels the crocodile's fearsome jaws
drag the wildebeest down
while the zebras flee
he prays relentless sailors
stop harpooning the great breaching whales
and hears the grasses scream
when bloated oilmen pound holes
in the prairie dog's kingdom
he regrets that schoolteachers lie
about what a great man Columbus was
and why the Sioux, the Apache and the Arapahoe
were incapable of evolution
he knows you don't need a bicycle helmet
to ride downtown for ice cream
knows our legal system is for sale
knows surfing is Neptune's brave ballet
Santa delights in the spiritual joy emerging
when patients see angels hovering everywhere
before doctors scream psychosis
and numb what they do not understand
with sad needles and leather restraints
his reindeer are the dreams of the spastic child
who knows he will never run
his sleigh a zero carbon emission vehicle
and his great heavy bag carries
the sweet prayers of the Jew, the Christian
the Muslim, the Buddhist, the Hindu
the Gnostic, the Wiccan and the existential humanist
on the night before Christmas
Santa dreams that all the cars and trucks disappear
and every freeway grows trees and flowers and grass
where everyone chats and meanders and strolls
and vendors sell SnoCones, apple juice and pears
because Santa Claus is just doing
the one thing he knows how to do best
on a long winter's night
to bring some light to a world
that races toward extinction
while the butterfly sleeps with the lizard
and the children still believe
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC