i am a mad librarian, i

stamp books and scan bar codes when its day, i

place books on hold, and tenets, too, i

arrange things alphabetically, i

sort and stack and categorize.

But later on in shuttered quiet, I

Help Mend Things, I

glue pages from one book to another, I

transplant chunks of fantasy into reference books, I

paste philosophies over dictionary definitions.

I tape horoscopes to endings, and

I sew bodice rippers into mysteries, and

I switch religious tomes with fairy tales, and

I braid poetry through scientific reasoning, until

Abstract patches the concrete.

 
“Two meals described on menu card

and sorry he could not order both–

So waited as he hemmed and hawed

then brought the pear to hungry oaf.”

–From the order pad of Hospitality Technician: R. Frost (emp#234)

“Cntrl Alt Delete? Or Not to Cntrl Alt Delete. That is the operation.”

–From the margins of data entry clerk Will Shakespeare

“They drink, therefore I am.”

–Motif on Descartes bartender business cards

“I’m Emily Dickinson. Who are you? Are you Emily Dickinson, too?”

–telemarketing spiel monitored for her protection from a phone bank overseas

“Big hair’s but a walking shadow, a lip-syncher, who struts and frets her hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a song sung by Autotunes, full of sound effects and slurring, signifying nothing.”

–passage from weblog of Will I AM Shakey; Brittney Spears’s roadie

“The question isn’t who is going to let me, it’s how many in your party?”

–Ayn Rand (dinner hostess)

“Home, home and start Range–where debts and procurements accrue…”

–song sung under breath of accounting assistant: Brewster Higley

“A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, driving a piece of heavy equipment.”

– conversation between Antoine de Saint Exupery & his foremen.

“He wants his food dead! Not rare, not medium, dead!”

–order shouted by Oscar Wilde at line cook

“It was the best of times–It was the worst of times, it was the dawning of the winter discount in the shoe department.

–overheard OTJ; Charles Dickens, Team Member

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.

 
skeletons

(in closets)

or out

–bones just cant tell–

how their lives might have been. . .
 
 
 

if cheekbones

hollowed before

harvest

or bloomed,

if sockets ran rivers

or shone,

if hips

danced or

trudged a lone,

if ribs held hearts

broken

or whole,

if blades

squared

or

bowed,

if heels

dug in

or achille’d

if arms held

or kept at length.

–bones just can’t tell–

the story

behind mortal weaks

of flesh. . .

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 some.

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

(You-Christ)

and maybe this sounds irreverent, but I’m

not changing for You.

Never have.

Death is umami

a crunchy feeder fish

you eat whole

–skeleton and all

(that might catch on the swallow)

but the skeleton lends a depth missing before…

Love is fresh fruit

dribbly, bitten strawberry

green apple right off the tree

imparting energy complex, and sub

-lime-

Lemon

bright.

Malevolence is brined

an over-salted jerk

(sauce)

a tooth-breaking brisket

that simmers in crack pots

all day and all night.

Regret is sweet.

Sweet like dried peaches,

it’s pleasing at first, but man.

That suckass sulfur aftertaste.

Rage is wasabi awesome

clearing the sinuses,

and charging the senses,

but ultimately cheap hot-sauce bad

> coming and going <

And Phoniness

well, phoniness. . .

That’s any processed food–

cream-filled & cancerous.

when it’s time to repose

do you sleep without clothes?

is your doze

one of those

with your bits all exposed?

in the buff,

in the raw,

so everything shows?

–minus cap

–missing socks

from your tops to your toes?

your torso

disclosed. . .

your legs

without hose. . .

your knobbies,

your floppies,

your knees,

and elbows?

who knows

how it goes. . .

when your engine slows. . .

if you’re too hot to handle

or too froze to go. . .