What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.

Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.

So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.

It took a hastily-made hangman puzzle
to **** you, a present-day friend
of mine to simply whisper
that three-letter word
as if she were restating the gospel.

Ironic, then, that as you were dying,
I felt an era-long noose loosening.

I remember finding skin pores
mistakenly labelled as sinkholes,
every confession warranting
a "believe me, we knew" after the other.

If you had spent any more time,
an indefinite amount of days
deciding to stay lurking
in the corners of the closet,
out there in the rafters
where no one could hear you
whispering poison into my gut reactions,
I might have sprouted
a kamikaze bloodline,
a raucous rhythm in the ranks
cackling louder with each year
of silence, each span of secrecy.

Although your plastic inflection
vanished with a collective
unlocking of the joints,
your cryptic sentiment still loiters
while my common sense is sleeping,
and I remember to repeat,
three times like Dorothy,
that moment I could only
be my true self on paper.

Charity and love
go hand in hand
From my perspective,
it's two breeds of the same species
To love encompasses the desire to give
yet charity has its limits
But what limits can be placed on a charity of love?
Endless giving even as much as my soul
and the purity that's left of
which you never turned away
greed is your sin
consuming the broken pieces of me
as if it were a buffet
But wait Hey!
if you consume all of me
what is left of me
the parts you control
in fear of being alone?
How is it possible to fear
what we've already experienced?
Is the experience that horrific and unrewarding
horrendous to the mind and eye
daily disrespect is ok and warranted
Warranting questions of common sense and more
dare we say even sanity
all in the name of love and charity
because what need do I have of me
without giving to the one I love
because he needs
more than me

enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip  dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a *******! or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ******? i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.

i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into fck.... ah ****...
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.

Some say
That a picture is worth a thousand words
But what if each word
Was worth a thousand pictures?
That every single piece you write
Contains an amber memory
An emotion stained shard of glass
In the word "love"
An aching heart in the word restart
A laugh sown into the hollow of your smile
A desperate sense of awe and kindled fear
In the knowledge of what we write
Will out live us
That in a sense we artists
Who rip their chests open
Warranting our sorrows and joys onto the world
We bare our arms
We show our scars
Some of us to feel like we aren't alone
Others to be a light in someones darkest corner
A warm pulsating orb
To be here
To show
You aren't alone
That we're here
Bracing your heart against the hurricane


Some say that a picture is worth a thousand words
But what if each word
Is worth a thousand pictures?

Austerity emblazoned in silk
fallen out of the ranks
in the popularity stakes
the iced tea on the hob
warmingingly out of character

Do you recall turning the page of irony
yellowed blotter, signature book
of those you'll never meet again
autographed in old inked scrawl
holed up with cobwebbed coats

Well, they don't bother you now
even though they stared you down
head hunted the perfect prefect of popularity
seeking you to check out the aged paper trail
their current capabilities warranting a slice

Settling, the nest felt comfy
nurturing, gifts placed at your feet
you dislodged the parrot from your shoulder
it left its calling card, a neat reminder,
chatted  up colourful clowns in the corner

Squatting within a lurch of emotion
fried eyed, stop tap turned off
zero shifting into first place
cashing in their deposit too late
they paid in full willingly....it seemed

Steamrollered, you left the game
parked your plastic smile
scrubbed clean the mossy mess
sat back amongst daisy/buttercup armies
felt the hot poker of rejection, water.....devoured it

The wild current flows, stopping for no one,
As I reach out to grasp what was left:
A hint, a memory waving by like deja vu,
Random access memories;
Perhaps I've imagined it all.

Here I am grappling again,
With that titanium door bolted shut,
Safeguarding anything that tries to trespass it;
One word, a grunt, a slight nod, casual shrug
       Indifferent smiles
As you flow over rough and rocky terrains,
Boulders sharpening your edges,
A gaze here and a whimper there,
Your mind jostled, warranting rhymes,
As my heart gets trampled by the one you love.

Lucid dreams morphs into lucid visions,
I try to see what you see through the eyes you possess in the islands of your heartbeats and the crimson nerves coursing through your veins,
Alas the curtains come billowing down shut, "Nothing to see here, go on back home folks" and the circus ends for the night---
           Not till a stubborn tug in the depth of my soul says it deserves
           A slight hope that one day you would weave me unconditionally in your reflections,
           To navigate the mountains together---
But for now, the ringmaster declares the show's over.

My weary heart has seen it all, heard it all, always sleeping with one eye pry open,
The other eye shut in prayer this wouldn't be the norm,
As I hold on tightly to the current, wildly rushing through the fabric of time,
Leaving no traces of faces behind but a faint tapestry of a memory
By the lake, held tight,
Supported by wiry artistry,
Calm on the surface but paddling nervously underneath like those waddling ducks,
Your lips and eyes melting into mine,
Asking me to be yours.

19.2.15
Shalini Nayar
(C) 2015

There is no time, in my eyes,
spent with you
that contain shadows,
warranting hopelessness or a magic potion.
Our sweet water is never lost
in what lays within
the music
streaming from our hands.  

As if in a circle of satisfaction,
we talk in retrospect,
seeking comforting remnants
of what we brought to each others arms.
Measured spaces sit upright
on the shores of who we are,
yet still,
we are the same.

The whispering cries of love and hope
slowly pace
outside our doors.
We smile at memories
ascending to meet them
in the truest beauty.
What more
could we ask for?

Music to our ears so sweet,
is time slipping
where it’s supposed to.
Why would we run and ask for more
knowing one day again
we will be
face to face?

It astonishes me to consider
The thousand thousand trials and triumphs
that had to be part of our paths
To ensure we'd walk together
but the consideration is fleeting
As nothing in the past carries much relevance now
Scars have healed or been forgotten
Remembered slights and grudges have been summarily dismissed
Even the glow of nostalgia has been cooled to embers
All has been relinquished to the before times
Warranting only an occasional quick perusal
A momentary revisitation of prior life
Soon to be left in the past
Excepting the recognition that everything aligned
To lead my present tense to you

Playing in my waistband
Fingers trickle down
Fascinated with the way the lace moves all around
Your fingers take a dip
They trickle down my back
Warranting a hiss from me, (my) facade starts to crack
The feeling that it leaves me--
With when you're away
Makes me feel the color yellow, bright as summers day
And oranges remind me
Of the way you smell
I catch a whiff and rewind to our game of show and tell
Red is the flight
That I'm catching later on
Reminds me that I'm leaving and makes your touch feel like a con
Green is my mind
When I think of who I'm with
Never with you, far away, you're feeling like a myth
Blue is the sound
Of your lips leaving mine
As they throw away the butterflies and taste like Country time
Indigo is heavy
Weighing down my thighs
I'm feeling dizzy and it's got me caught up and surprised
Violet is ending
Impossibility.
Run around us singing 'darling..stand by me'

I clean the puddle up
I throw it in the trash
I hear it hit the metal, rainbow spills and feelings crash

The rainbow keeps on running
The colors start to muddle
I find them every morning in a technicolor puddle.

I asked God his majesty wether I was worthy of the breath
That comes and goes warranting no continuation
He asked what I would gain over a sudden death?
What dreams I yet had unfulfilled, What sleeps I had yet to sleep
To let the weary night beam in relief, and the day twirl
in the excitement of awaiting fortune, and to take a leap
toward the untamed sun, for a heap of mercy.
He knew all I had deprived my sight of, to flee like birds before a bear.
For life in all its solace is no forebearing, but erupts in discourtesy.
So I embraced an eye and kept weeping
for the breath in my lungs was worth keeping.

I saw the gust of winter
Walks a billowing shadow across the field
Unmasking all covers of a happy summer
Whispering a once cold secret untold.

The dire wolf leashed under a leafless tree
Warns the old wise moon for omen
Has she come to betray me for a visit?
Or, steal me a kiss of vengeance.

Skin as pale as snow
Flowing in a cosmos of abyss
Thought ocean devours everything
Flesh with rocks can't rise above.

Has justice been this early winter?
Knocking on every door
Warranting about Summer 1990
Of a wrath under a sycamore tree.

Three wise men under the stars
A girl dances with the corns
Happy feet can't help but wander
Leading her to where daddy is.

Safe on these arms of forever
Carry me over where home is
Lit the light up unveils
Two shadows under the stars.

Seeing through a thick fiber
A nameless fear of silence
Not even a single drop of needle
Till her breath has faded.

You don’t want the deck
Only a need for one
Somehow the shuffle still gets you
Warranting the luck of the draw
When the wild card is once in a life time
Yet you still bet blindly
Hoping for the forever hand
Full again but comes up empty
Find another way
If she smiled then she meant it
Ash has no density
Free from the party
I can’t get this song out of my head
The one you sang to me a Saturday ago
I’d  kiss you next year
And thereafter
Probably not

To Write For Whom

You reach an age when friends, your generation
Dying off like flies.
And you, full of ideas
Alive and kicking,  
Finger licking fresh in mind
Trying to find
One out there,
To read your wares.
Your teeming thoughts,
Aware and deep with meaning
Warranting a reader,
Radar to its most intense.
Looking, writing, hoping for an audience,
Shakespeare felt the selfsame yearning -
Handel, Beethoven, each earning by conducting,
Not to mention poor Van Gogh
Who went the way of painters who sell nothing go.

To write, paint, sculpt, dance, sing, compose:
Any noise that oozes art.  
For whom?
That is the theme, the problem
And the question.

To Write For Whom12 27.2016
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin

The melanin in our skin,
leaves open a gateway for hate.
It is where violence and bigotry breed
at the hands of those meant to protect.
Was our skin color God’s mistake?

What is fed to us as seeds,
grows into fires filled with rage as we mature.
The cycle is inevitable, at best,  
foreshadowing the entirety of our lives.
Placing those sprouted through hate into an inescapable prison,
filled with fires which cannot be extinguished.
Warranting these fires to burn within us, was God’s only mistake.
We will not be put out.
I.M

Her thoughts danced like an interpretation of anguish,
salt-water emerging from the corners of her eyes.
Departing from the calm of the open flame,
she soaked in her demise.

Abating breath, bracing for a new sense of normalcy,
she sensed her flesh yearning to bring destruction.
As each second of borrowed time passed,
she focused on the prophecy.

Impending fate toys with destiny,
as the fire in her eyes glimmers.
Warranting her sense of hope,
letting the boiling *** of liquid simmer.

She clings to the tightrope of her souls awareness,
knowing that the slightest falter could cause her descent.
What lies on the other end of this horizontal tread?
Ah, but the ladder to keep climbing, recognizing the ascent.

How long it has been since she reached for a new rung?
She has traveled faithfully on the chosen path,
accepting each task with obedience,
Alas, there is a new song to be sung.

Reality show
Notoriety hoes
Follow what glows
Behind a fame nose
In a shame pose
As the game goes
They keep staying low
While nasty stains grow
From thinking vapidly
And acting rapidly
Not speaking factually
We don’t see them actually

Seeming tame
And plain
Seeking fame
Their aim
All the same
They play a game
Of hoops of flame

Becoming circus acts
By removing tact
On a negative track
Of shooting flak
And shooting back
Negativity attracts
Harmful impacts
At an old impasse
Of cold syntax
Warranting a gin tax
Drinking from a tin flask
So the emptiness is masked

The reverb
Resurge
Rewords
The birds
Caught in the Internet
Like a flying intercept
Stealing their intellect
With a mundane misdirect
Of inane interests

A new method for dollar dreamers
Now the cynical screamers
Are digital streamers
Pivotal pleasers
Concerned with clicks
By scratch and kick
They hatch a trick
To match a *****
Dispatched to fix
Their lack of hits

The loud and obnoxious
Are proud of the noxious
And opening boxes
They stream video games
Other people made
They just played
For a good grade
In the leisure lane
No pleasure or pain
To treasure my brain

Their reality shows
In modality woes
Personality froze
Under their nose
In a monitor glow
Development slows
As far as irrelevant goes
They’re part of the flow
That doesn’t grow

Taking the shameful road to attention
For a dishonorable mention
Avoiding knowledge retention
For a superficial invention
Of social extension
They have a fatal mentality
That perception is reality
But the exception is vitality
That isn’t just an eventuality
For one must be capable and willing
To try to produce something fulfilling
Instead of just simple time killing
While hourglass sand keeps spilling

I am surprised to find you like
similar
things. Liking being
a sort of seeing
we agree
adds value to the seen thing,
the noticed, see,
odd
thing we both see at times, like

failed
corrective measures taken too late,
leave a
… mark on a stone. patina red as mars,
scratched away, a thousand years ago…

Empty swirl, wordless,
holds now the whole story,
told to
me, after all that came before,
all the histories and mysteries and wars.

Major catastrophes,
each taken personally as much smaller
on the scale of human events.
Minor tugs from a star so far we only now imagined
at
such
distance, anything being at all.
--------
Only everyone you knew
died.
Everyone did not die, but how could you
have known
now was pending, even then, as now.
See.
What we do
now, regarding wrongs that never had a link
to right, do we make
next,
or wait to see if we were
left behind, or
was nothing meaningful for now,

survived by signals to seers,
saying, see we came this way.
Nothing is behind us,
pushing.
We do not flee, we wander,
hither and yon and back,

tilling soil with a pointed stick, to plant three sisters
where the river left some mud,
black with mulch from the ******'s dam, that sent us
driftwood
for our fire, while we wait.

--------- no names remain to mark the stone as owned,
we claim it ours,
we possess this space in time, if you mind
or if you even
think
you mind matters beyond your mortal ken, out there
from where your last lie lay told

I know, I know, we all believe we know
we report,
open wide the portal, we run like Jehu, there is
peace
being made in the desert.

Come see, come see, listen winds singing
see,
we say see life, a little
tiny
bit of it, is you. Yes,
you the nobody, who hears such things and takes
the granted fact as evidence,
warranting a song.
To the good
to come of all my seed,
life with me is different than life without me shall be,
but here,
this place where the flood left a good harvest for such
as see
the future crouching at the door,
here I left the lines that drew you to this end.
-----------------

The following fictitious poetic vignette attempts a feeble tale of one ordinary day in life of anonymous miscreant.

"I don't give a ****
about my bad reputation."

I haint never done nobody no harm,
nor did any animals
(code word for other gang members)
get injured or killed
in the making of a video
(our lingo for done deal).

A decoy police officer
(one named Sergeant Smart)
pretended to be a drug dealer.

Turf wars made clear
the domain each mini kingpin oversaw.

Our base, which included
drop outs, whose parents
did not give a fig whether
their son lived or died
(got pitiless date with death)
drove motive to act truant
or commit a serious violation
warranting expulsion
generated a buzzing business
for social services field attending minors.

Thus here we were at our "den",
when this officer (dressed
in plain clothes) wanted some
(even just a dab) smack.

One badass dude of this pack
nicknamed "Hen Owes"
usually tried to "sniff" out trickery
when a new bro showed up out of nowhere.

Me and the boys could “feel vibes”,
and sense an infiltrator, sleuth,
or simply traitor,
(which last mentioned
a real impish whinny *****),
when we immediately see him.

Between ourselves, we exchanged
specific non verbal signals
if someone ratted on us.

Thar haint nuttin worse getting duped.

A posse member
(if found out got pole axed for revenge).

Usually the beans already spilled
with a caper on our tail,
but the ragamuffin who tattled
would pay with his life.

At this instance, I felt trapped.

No doubt flaunting law groupthink
and figurative cohesiveness
exhibited obvious signs of defeat.

Once no escape in the cards,
each "coyote" barked, howled,
and jabbered like any other teenage punk
when outsmarted by authority
decorated figure head honcho.

A hair brained simultaneous idea
lit up all our brains too ****
this menacing enforcer of the law.

As if on cue, the beefiest beastie boy
sucker punched, and pistol whipped,
and kicked in the groin this ******,
who lied thru his teeth.
      
They all did!

We knew that.
    
The unmarked car
the mutilated body mortally wounded
with a couple/few token gunshots
for good measure got stuffed
in the trunk of the vehicle.

Already headquarters triggered
the slain global positioning satellite
to track location of this rookie.

We subsequently found out,
he attended the same hell hole high school
some years before we
plugged, plotted, planned
to bomb the **** building
to kingdom come.

Since the moniker
"bad company" linkedin
to every f**k'n trouble
maker and threat
to other students in general
and homicidal maniacal
reputation in particular,
thus gave us bragging
(cachet **** reputation)
rights in this underground
world wide web of all gory
blood lust and violence.

Live to be freely mean and die,
or a nasty, short and brutish life
found most every day a shooting gallery.

A temporary bond meant nothing,
(or meeting the barrel of a gun)
if a turncoat wielded a loose silky tongue
spoiling opportunities
to mow down another body.

Yours truly issuing a deafening rebel yell
bursting forth with such might
courtesy cooking under pressure
analogous to volcanic upswell,
forcing me quickly to flap vestigial wings
(at the speed of sound)
while simultaneously karaoking William Tell

overture apple lied courtesy top of the line
supra-aural ('over the ear') headphones
since altruistic anonymous
philanthropist gifted me
I bought the most expensive,
which enveloped me
analogous to pumpkin shell

essentially vacuum or void created
hands free contraption
settled, and kick/jump started,
and bathed noggin
silencing external cacophony,
whereby virtual realm didst quell
chaos assaulting, bombarding,

and enfilading sixty
plus shades of gray matter
like bats out of hell
swarming infidel locked alone in his cell,
who notified beefy warden,
he (the prisoner) wanted sustenance
by wantonly ringing a cowbell.

Out of wedlock philanderer
condemned did breed
tasting verboten fruits thee did buzzfeed,
when clear as water requisite
Nicene dance creed
deemed out of compliance
heinous née violation
in sum re: siring offspring
necessitates extreme unction
viz hits fallen into utter adulterer disgrace

before pledging one's troth
analogous to insubordination
thus life sentence decreed
blithely humming along
riding ******* (qua absent prophylactics
during heat of the moment) abomination
begetting children deprived; freed
spermatophytes liquidated
courtesy ***** goat ****
before sanctified nuptial coda agreed
registers as fate worse

than hearing one's death knell
from deep within the bowels of Earth,
yet now I play the devil's advocate,
and claim what more precious miracle than
experiencing (namely participating)
planting seeds of life within womb
allowing, enabling, and providing
deliberate propagation ideally
of healthy human species
warranting ******* when ovulation
most favorable to fertilization.

Rumspringa extant within/
without Amish youth world wide
impossible mission despite
scriptural strictures rightly stride
to put a lid on libidinal drive
analogous to holding back the tide viz
celibacy as restraint against
pang of **** ought best be granted liberty,
an emerging truth nationwide
a state of concupiscent nature
whether hetero or homosexual
one beast of burden an adolescent
ought not be forced to hide
similar to severe imposition of apartheid.

Once union of two
sexually latent human beings
looses gametes, which
unsurprisingly yield zygote
when without absolute zero
doubt pregnancy occurs
gravid state cannot be
shrugged off nor ignored.

No matter whether precocious post pubescents,
or legally aged coupled partners
salient proactive investment measures wise
such as ultrasound signaling healthy gestation
validation of impending motherhood
constituting testing blood for hCG results
in earliest detection of pregnancy
subsequently witnessing barenaked lady
exhibiting maternal physiological transformations
courtesy haploid gametes
rendering woman with child,
whereby abdominal area balloons in girth.

Only twenty two days after conception
or five weeks and one day gestation,
the embryo's heart starts beating
ultrasound evinces whooshing sound
triggering perceptible unsuppressed mirth

Prenatal visits also important precaution
to keep tabs on presence of vital signs
of unborn baby.

In chorionic villus sampling CVS,
a sample of tissue is taken from the placenta.
The main advantage
of having CVS over amniocentesis?
CVS is done earlier than amniocentesis,
between 10 and 13 weeks of pregnancy.
The chance of miscarriage with CVS
slightly higher than chance
of miscarriage with amniocentesis.

Betwixt and between us
lies an immense untraversable realm
of never knowable forbidding possibilities
quixotic, rhapsodic, sympathetic, telepathic...,
where tantalizing, scandalizing, and revolting,
nevertheless promising fantasies beckons
buzzfeeding, crowdsourcing, dovetailing,
earthshaking, foo fighting, hashtagging,
jump/kick starting, twittering
uber whatsapp pining

toward pinteresting paroxysms
of mental, physical, and spiritual ecstasy
courtesy hotmail testosterone teasing temptation,
thus methinks of the infinitely jesting
combinations and permutations,
where we could frolic in the autumn mist
in a land called Honah Lee
far from the madding crowd
starkly aware of naked (lunch) able truth,
the one predominant potential

to become linkedin narcissistically -
betokens prematurely ******* salvation
back sliding against turpitude,
how laughable when
within body electric of mine
these lovely bones linkedin
where hypocrisy reigns supreme
validating yours truly (me) deserving
casanova wannabe comeuppance
about a decade and a half after

risqué monkey business
came back to our abode
at 724 West Railroad Avenue,
Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania
as a tongue tied guilt riddled spouse
exuding culpable, deplorable,
and execrable friggin gall
unbridled travesty spent
ideally groomed for male escort
tasting tender verboten hello kitty vittles

totally tubular transgressions,
I tiptoed thru the tulips
the missus issuing rank vehemence
being livid with rage an understatement
against husbandly underhandedness
warranting his well deserved
videre licet just desserts,
where doled out tidbits heavily sprinkled
with accusation, condemnation, fulmination,
she eyeing sharp object, whereat

wife subsequently mulled over
dead serious contemplation
humiliation in juxtaposition with jugulation
repentant spouse himself gladly experienced
punishing blackened barbs
accompanied additionally
by little puncture wounds
scoring the skin courtesy
analogous to titanium bullets
shot out from beebee gun

eliciting character assassination
involving, seducing qua inveigling,
masterfully baiting adultery
most beastly conniving divorcée
gallivanting across Cumberland Farms
in flagrante delicto gourmand
luring complicit mistress
during dead of winter ~ 2010
toward **** rock within copse
housing The Washington Memorial Chapel
built in 1903 serving dual purpose.

stimulated courtesy follicles,
where Coconut, Olive, Grapeseed,
Jojoba, Amla and Vitamin E oils
allowed, enabled,
and provided head start
germinating peach fuzz into brown strands
after Flaxseeds, Pumpkin seeds and Fenugreek
being sprinkled on my scalp
yielded a bumper crop of hirsute weeds
occasionally tripping me up

analogous to hallucinogen
causing a public health hazard
warranting, necessitating, and goading me
to give shout out for stylist
to tender mine lovely brunette locks,
which might be repurposed into a wig
for patients undergoing chemotherapy,
or afflicted with alopecia,
(the partial or complete absence
of hair from areas of the body
where it normally grows; baldness).

As a knobby kneed, puny,
scrawny, wimpy kid whose,
(back in the nineteen sixties),
his parents decreed their singular
(painfully shy dorky, geeky and nerdy)
old school boy who sported a buzz cut,
which found him reacting and responding
(in short order rebelling)
passive aggressively by
refusing to bathe

until mommy dearest demanded
(well nigh upon
the bewitching hour of midnight)
to witness her son soaked
and essentially marinated
(until my skin shriveled like a prune)
in the (clawfoot) tub
lest he stink to high heavens,
and given a serious dressing down
by the timely principal Mister Clock.

Far back as I can remember,
the significance of hair
assumed an outsize role,
whether enviously eying other lads
their thick straight hank,
or nowadays bristling
with self reproach
cursed with thinning
greasy limp strands
(interspersed with gray)

experiencing shame being seen in public,
a disgrace to our family name of Wagstaff
and an embarrassment
to the human race
ofttimes associating
myself with Samson,
whereat emotional, physical,
and spiritual strength
rooted (pun intended)
within each hair shaft

(the visible part of the hair
that sticks out of the skin),
and rooted in the skin and extends
down to the deeper layers of the skin
surrounded by the hair follicle
(a sheath of skin
and connective tissue),
which is also connected
to a sebaceous gland.