Since hindsight

proved 20/20

I do the only sensible thing

–I schedule every yesterday

Plot and plan the past so meticulously

there’s hardly any conflict whatsoever

secure in the reality

that what’s next

–was.

.I never ruminate.

.nor muse in maudlin fashion.

.nor even wax nostalgic.

(for tomorrow)

–on events not passed

–opportune knocks untapped

–orations unuttered

all ready

–over–

which is itself, ever on the brink.

Gulping full-strength, preemptive aspirin

to prevent former headache,

I hoard the Present

like Grinch

–marking time

and a “to-done” list

(before the stain sets in)

–eager to

get back-to-back

chickenscratch

scored through.

your soul can get

phat

–it can!

that food for the soul

isn’t low-cal

it’s heightened everything!

–but most for your toast

ain’t salad

(for crying out loud)

that ‘gimme some sugar’

is raw!

Plain as the knows in your faith,

for all it’s extra special, it’s

Good food

to mete–

Good God–

let’s eat!

Surprising, though, which

chow

lingers the longest

(a swivel of hips)

and which is quickest to go. . .

(a shoulder with chip)

take for example,

love.

It coats the spirit

for-e-v-e-r

(talk about those lasting pounds!)

> ker-thud, ker-thud <

long after it’s eliminated from

your RDA

–no matter how often you exorcise–

it

swells the heart,

–no matter how frequently your head spins–

‘but’ gets bigger,

–no matter if you chug-a-lug Spirits,

and carbo-load angel food

your reflection is

permanently

plus

1

(size)

On camera 2,

and while that’s neither well nor good,

it is

and now you’re probably wondering

which kismet kibble is easiest to lose…

(I’m projecting)

and that’s such a no-brainer

you’d have to be short-bussed

not to sense it innately

–at least a Little Bit

. . .

and do you?

trust.

Trust is the first soul food to go

–who cares if residual traces remain in your gut

–or if you’d stocked up last time out to Big Box, and forget

your stash in cupboard with Cupcake. . .

it spoiled

Why, you can lose it just

thinking

about it,

and certainly

–certainly–

by passing it by.

all

one.

strike the extra “l”

solo

two

combine the wholes

add

U.

. . .

it’d be

sum’thing all right.

 
My eyes are running out of ink.

(don’t you hate it when that happens)

Holes pricked to extend my area of focus & peripheral vision

–first of all: worked–

but
 
 

caused the ink to run dry in incremental

drops as well

–as wells will do when unreplenished–

(water basins, too)

wHiTe DroPs

from laugh lines–

–definitely those, but

> most not<

mOst Black DroPs that pooled

and caused tears

which caused Paper Jams

and cost money,

and now I’se fade daily.

Squinting at that crumple∙d∙ream instead of printing

Losing ink–

–not toner.

as after decades of use I am unequipped to

*pinpoint*

my desktop printer is barrels more Tone

than other models that came out around the same time,

with prototype ALL IN ONE functions that appreciate–rather than depreciate–after each  run.

I’m no laser jet, but I could be retrofitted…

drip-drip-drip

. . .

even so.

All printers need ink,

and mine’s going/goinG/GONE

Factory shut down without relocating across seas

Cartridge after cartridge dropping out; the electric surging right along with it.

The copy function, well, I never had one,

facts, either,

(derivative & drivel buttons might have been depressed the whole time, though, I confess I never checked)

and lately?
 
 
Lately the scanner

stopped calibrating the rain color entirely, which,

>believe it or not <

changes rainbow prints.

a bully

~fully~

understands

the tactics that are scary. . .

what menaced pace,

which “in your face”,

will keep its victim wary–

–and I should know

I’ve had such foes,

just 3

–but they were hairy

the first

was worst,

and I–accursed

encountered child often. . .

at school and play,

at dark of day,

she found new ways to mock, and–

–cruel she was,

I think, because

we had so much in common. . .

the second,

threatened,

~soul and skin~

she was a woman, grown. . .

a reckless beast,

that trampled peace,

of mind and body, both.

she haunted me,

like ghost, did she,

she could have been my clone.

the third

preferred,

the written word,

to taunt, since she was older. . .

meaner, leaner,

scripted schemer,

bitter–but not bolder. . .

all thorn, no rose,

she dogged my prose,

she copied over shoulder.

But hope,

was cope,

for tormentors,

to make them run and hide. . .

as was belief

in self-esteem

to leave them high and dry–

–and I should know

since treble’d foes,

were

me,

myself,

&

I.

my life was full of

karma bugs,

from my skull cap,

to my Ugghs

–picked ‘em up while sowing fields–

–aided by a turning wheel–

–seeded for a karmic yield–

and though a few

came out in wash,

the rest of ‘em I could not squash.

I swatted some

up in the air,

alas, a lot came

down from there

–falling to the bed I’d made–

–next to which I sometimes prayed–

–petitioning a sunny day–

and since my chickens

roosted there,

I let them be

as Nature’s

fare.

Foregoing swat,

I tried by fist,

throwing down,

but could not squish

–even one, and fingers spread–

–cast 3 digits back at head–

–index hanging like a thread–

pointing out my

trebled blame,

my harvest

in this karmic game.

And recognizing

game afoot,

I realized to

fight’s no good

–and “going there”, I came around–

–at which point, all bugs came down–

–no longer bane, but new friends found–

a crop of opps

I reaped that day,

on b’itchy back

was karmic pay.

He

passed

posed

possessed

such a

jeerful

fearful

cheerful

expression

–his personality

expensive

expansive,

and Shining eyes like

Nickels

(son)

shudders

shoulders as

God

broad

as any woman could want

. . .

cliff

cleft in chin

you could get

tossed

lost

in

And so

prig!

big!

The

rite

sight

of him

always made me

small

smile…