It’s a Put On

I put on fronts.

Airs and dogs,

(in write good show)

leashing lack

which nature is

shifting shape

like clouds

. . .

like facades hiding nothing

. . .

like fetid fats in lava lamps,

and straight-to-streamin’ movies.

I put off people.

Decisions and good vibes,

a paradoxical sandwich

without cheese,

that once bitten is

dead to rights

shy of guns

–love gone so utterly missing–

that even infinite reward posters couldn’t bring it back

no mulligans!

(and I did so like to golf badly)

playing musical chairs with death

no Lazarus!

instead.

I put up dukes.

Memes or shut up,

shadowboxing caricatures

that reflect

status quo,

and a neighbor so named

–who isn’t a dog interestingly enough–

and certainly no good boy

wondering all the while

where the ref’ is

. . .

gone missing or mad?

(d’ya think)

and if a TKO might be in the

offing.

Hard put

these days

. . .

in

never-ending dalliance,

and ever-shortening mouse maze

fronting the rat race

it really is.

where is my “me” time?

(I wonder)

when do I take a load off?

(I wish)

and when do I get the cheese?

(back)

I ask

(myself)

since the

Keeper of Light

is just a guy with a coupla’ AA’s

in a world charging

differently

. . .

asleep on the job, besides

he works nights

–by the glow of his phone—

not the sun

but his phone,

dozing days away

(by shovel and shuteye)

and only the punitive teacher

remains

–no Zen master,

he.