Cursive scuttled,

Printing pre-fab,

Autos assembling

words irrevocably abbreviated

(WIA)

obscure superhero

Pen Man

codes boats

–exclusively–

Ships

Photoshop

can’t parse.

Ostensibly

using a stencil

to hide,

My lack of a knack

with a pencil

I tried,

templating grooves

tracing pre-cuts,

alas

and alack,

my pencil got

stuck,

outside the lines

the predescribed path,

lost among signs

I just couldn’t graph,

in manner

the planner

of grid had decided,

was optimum course

for me

to be

guided,

so finding myself

without map to route,

I drew

blueprint new

my inside

–my out–

a customized mold

specifically mine,

and get this

it’s grid-less

–not fixed

or defined.

Like blankets

in the heat of summer,

civilization is something

I want to throw off

(oppressive)

and the undersheet

of society too,

(restrictive)

but its military corners

trap my thrashing feet inside,

and the towering four-posters menace

. . .

flaunting their flounces

(flounces replaced every April)

and dare me to denude their frame

Sweating and claustrophobic,

I stare at the oversize

pillows

(for show)

that escaped to useless piles

on my dresser

–the stain-free social media sham,

which looked better online, frankly–

–the “still good on one side” car cushion

–the bucks in bank bolster that everyone has, and

the does-the-job pillow that looks cushier than it is

. . .

along with the pain-in-the-neck pad that proved

too hard but nope, sorry, no take-backsies,

and wonder why I even keep those pillows anyway

–arranging them daily with painstaking precision

and tossing them far less precisely to the side each evening–

. . .

since I could use the space

. . .

the space that escapes me,

(unadulterated space)

trapped as I am

. . .

by bedclothes.

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.

hare sni-PP-ers

lop off ears,

stick Van Goghs

to Walls & shear

making Hatter’s

stovepipe topper,

~safety gear~

haz-mat proper

but tardy rabbit

shorn

of sound,

wanders

round

in Wonder Town

. . .

recallin’ when the

Rabbit Hole

was

halcyon

for Hares

on go.

a reaper roller ride

–more bullet than coaster–

and red-eye

-eady, -eady

. . .

a single in snaking chain

–with each cart a candle

(the first 40 unrealized dreams)

you stand on line

before you can crawl

–they look the other way

. . .

–the height requirement, you know–

for all the dizzying heights to which one rises

–and plummets

(the next 40 falling apart)

the train adds cars

>>

–detaches others–

< <

eternally en route…

He Rues

the Ruse

He Used

to Use,

Per Sue

the Sue

He once

Pursued,

a Wile

that worked

a While

but soon,

the Guise

unveiled

the Guy’s

a goon,

and Lest

the Lesson

here

be lost,

I’ll Summarize

so Some take stock

–be true

–do you–

at any cost.