Tattooed with bar codes,

I check myself out.

Pocketing readers,

pulling in paunch

–angling stance just so–

the bubbled mirror

distorts

–reflecting 2 ways.

I scan

–and skip–

to suit my taste

(bell knelling all the while)

independence

(scan)

loneliness

(skip)

good nature

(scan)

terrible regrets

(skip)

OK today

(scan)

fears

(skip)

Shoulder chip

malfunctioning

due to persistent cold

I sigh,

cherry-pick

staples

and forego

treats

–the cost

of both considerably higher than I remember–

and at the same time

their value

lackluster,

leaving what I wanted most

–and came especial to get–

on the side

(with other impulse buys there)

Cramming the lot

into baggage in tow,

I smile automatically

as I exit

–a walking emoji

brimming w imitation

joie de vivre–

escaping notice

through

emotion-sensing

doors.

I was

addicted to thinking

–and at first–

it was manageable.

a wee think

to get through

the wee hours

found me

fresh and untested

the morning after

–but it blossomed

in the manner of gin

rum-i-nations

staining knows

cheek

–and timidity–

all

and before I knew it

–and dissected the knowing–

I was

way over

FDA

RDA

–up all nights, thinking

–channeling verse

as sincere as

stumpin’ politicians rhetoric

&

chewing mints

those hard mornings after

–disguising

breath foul

w self-talk unspoken

–litany & lists

berate & beseech–

that marched like elephants

through my

thunk-drunk mind

–cirrhosis of the brain

half a dozen steps away.

Changing the diet has amazing results

–why, just the simplest substitutions make all the difference!

Take, for example,

my daily intake. . .

Foregoing my usual brekkie of

panick-cakes & agghhhs!!!

I chose surreal

–a new one–

instead,

and sure I made the cakes

but I let them congeal,

standing on teetering tippy toe to grab a

better choice

and yeah, I fell a couple of times reaching in that cabinet,

but at least I wasn’t running from precedent.

After fulfilling a bowl

of nutty bits of faith, and O-shaped hope

I pollinated my Arrowhead with

bee-leaf

–and maybe that’s sorta New Age–

but what the hey.

It’s less lethal that way, and

the chia seeds I’d tried before had only served to make my rhetoric

visibly wild and woolly, and all health benefits aside–

f*ck that.

Then for lunch, well lunch,

I untwisted the corkscrew pasta that was my gut

(these days)

and tried bandages

~lots and lots of bandages~

to stop that infernal bleeding,

(heart problem)

washing it all down with a dose

of blood thinners

–trying to lighten up, you know, and be the light

that had dim sum.

Dinner was predictable

. . .

it was Lamb.

Of course it was Lamb, and a side of

crucifix-erous veggies, ‘cause I know which side my

bread is buttered on

(Eu-Christ)

and maybe this sounds irreverent, but I

got hoppy

(instead of wine-y)

’cause burpeeZ are good, too.

5^th Golden Week

No matter what level

of build-up and fuss,

the advent of Yule,

is there to remind us–

the meaning behind

the yearly to-do,

that insists

on a list

of to-do

for you, too.

Saint Nick’s not the fellow

prompting the pomp,

he’s busy enough

with his own global romp,

landing on rooftops

and dropping down

chimneys,

–A cause–

worth applause,

since Santa’s not nimbly.

(Besides which, the roof pitch,

is totally wintry)

It comes down to love,

of which there’s too little,

the seasonal reason–

for joy in this riddle,

(that’s highly obscured)

by a hodgepodge of rites–

involving gift-giving,

and pine trees with lights,

and extra-hard logs–

that burn extra-bright.

Yes, the swell in Noel,

transcends its wrappings,

its trimmings & pinnings–

its ribbons & trappings.

It venerates Christ,

on day of His birth,

whose tender

surrender–

made peace

here on earth.

Happy Holly-DaZe, blOg-O-pEEps!! Thank you for coming by now and again. If you missed the start of this 8-verse sequence, you can get up to date (and actually beyond, lol) by clicking the links below. Hope you are feeling fat & sassy & oh-so-chill during this much-deserved break from the salt mines.

First Week

Second Week

Week 3

4th Down

after Jim

and

after him

where does this diverge?

One was love

and

one was not

I’ll let you guess

the scourge.

I wake at the break

of heart everyday

~like clockwork~

to a digital world

that needs no clocks

ticking

(loss)

into

numbers that alarm,

–big hours

yet to fill.

to say,

to sorrow,

and

still

(is)

the day after

I watch.

Purely sentry,

who I no longer am

–grows shorter–

(sun well shut of me)

where you never are

–looms larger–

(as fright falls)

unheard numbers that crowd

(and maim)

toss me from jaw to jaw

–and me with my teeth in the wind–

in waking shock.

the memory of clocks

keeping heartbeaten time

–tactile.

where is the area

cows like to nap?

chickens to roost?

ladybugs flap?

the one

that you run to,

stretch at,

and bat?

a site

that’s well-lighted

>vacant or not<

& fragrant

with bacon

the breadwinner brought,

& basted on fires

kept burnin’ so hot?

a place

that’s unmatched

–but found

when away–

a space for your heart

to call it a day,

a’state

–that has gates

but never a saint?

a locale

that’s free–

yet nothing to note,

a castle for he,

but still her abode,

a stead

where your head

has bed

& zip code?

what’s that?

do these hints

make you want

to explode?

I’ll close, then,

the prose, when

you figure out poem

–work it out now

or bring

it on home…