Linked bracelets keep arms from flying,

and money-colored nails crucify palms in pointed, pointless stigmata

Curb but create a fisting problem, along with

matching ring cuffs which

Eyeballed size is so off eventual amputation

is a shoo in,

and ultimate, future ice-breaker, besides.

as in: “nice nubs–is that hereditary?”

Belt skips leg up loops,

but bands gut feeling

(more effective than surgery for wait control)

while thinking caps damn overflowing brains

though some synapses spill out that little flap in the back, anyway…

That flap that gives way altogether on the swelled heads lockering average minds

releasing collateral mediocrity into the atmosphere like so many GHG’s.

Jackrabbit feet

> start <

> stop <

> start <

> stop <

(start and stop, and start and stop, and start and stop, and so on—losing any sincere punctuation along the way)

held back))))

by broken streetlights,

and sock puppet races.

By tightly-laced shoes,

and missing bootstraps,

By sick sense

and experience,

and to top that—necklaces!

Necklaces of all things,

you wouldn’t think…

Well, necklaces…

Made of chain they leash,

and silk can loop & lynch,

since it’s probably adulterated, you know.

A pilling, power cord

of Unplugged boundary

that loosens by the 2^nd

but chokes a 1^st rate, Winchester noose for most everyone at least once.

(I’d hazard to say)

Slung in secret over dissolving moonbeams

just persistent enough to last

until tags pop off heifer-pierced ears…

Until cheeks full of tongue darts explode!

His reflection consumed her and

she let it…

Tilting her own views

the better to show him off

–his good side.

> a fleeting beauty, at best <

she draped his X-factor

with incidental wool that

enveloped her frame by the bolt.

She even nailed herself to a Wall that

reflected this perception from a distance,

(a fox from far away)

a degree of separation,

frozen in cornered gloom yet reflecting.

‘Wished open Windows

–that let in weather, as much as light–

would snap blinds and

part curtains

(A little Windex wouldn’t hurt, either)

> a smoke <

He liked shadows better.

Without sheep’s eyes…

where make-up tricks go unnoticed

& fragile planes & edges

stay obscured.

eventually

it broke.

(the vase)

sure, I had to throw it against the wall

a few times,

(or a million)

but the smashing of it

surprised me

–liquid spilled everywhere!

cutting tender toes

as I struggled to mop it up

Lacking towel

(and mop)

the crumpled paper balls I employed

–created incidental Rorschach art,

and poetry that looked quite like words—

but proved ineffective

(in the l-o-n-g run)

and clothing cut into

tourniquets couldn’t staunch

the bleed, either

–water colored paradoxically

rose from those toes—

and though I cursed the mess soundly,

that didn’t work as well as I thought it might.

that spill spread!

A mixed metaphor–

the wildfire of it

soaked rugs,

seeped through floorboards,

and dripped into

every story in my house,

saturating everything in red

–which made me angry,

. . .

and hungry

. . .

and more attractive to the opposite sex, even so–

(as red will)

and it wasn’t until

the liquification of home

and hearth

was near complete,

that I noticed

there had been no

Gerbers in that

infernal vessel

–after all.

‘met the doctor at the dock

to stock up D.O.C.

but that codger was a cock

and talked of C.O.D.

brokered banker on the bank

to bankroll I.O.U.

thanked less, thankless

HMO, who wanked less PDQ

Poppin’ pop, I popped the lot

and plopped on dock to chill,

drifting off, I drifted off

(a spill induced by pill)

waking then, I followed wake

–of boat–

avoiding own,

moral is, skip all biz

with quacks who

throw you stones.

 
all of a sudden

–over unbounded days—

the passive tone is voiced

is it surrender?

and supposing

–is it progress?

the articulation is changed

yes, sure,

and the founder

(thereof)

founders

. . .

it’s anchor is unmoored

from the pylon

–and on, and on—

(ad infinitum)

whereon it was docked

forever

(a relative term)

but is this founder

gilled?

amphibian?

land-locked?

. . .

and is

water

still

(or stagnate)

flowing

(and fresh)

baptismal

(or boarding)

is it a giver of life,

or does founder

declare

it

drowns

. . .

?

 
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 hanging–over

–over ever on the brink—

gulping full-strength, preemptive aspirin

to prevent former headache

–hoarding the present

like a Grinch

(who will)

recording the now

like a stenographer

(with full permission)

marking time

like a to-done list

(before the stain sets in)

eager to

get back

to back

chickenscratch

scored through.

who’s to say

life’s better than death

such declarations

are guessing at best

‘cause when we are kicking

we can’t really know

if it’s better above

or 6 feet below

if daisies are pushed

by body and spirit

or soul is long gone

no loves-me-not near it

if worms get their chow

from all that we are

or some part of us

transcends salad bar

if light that we lit

is fried like a wire

or bulb keeps its charge

with breaker that’s higher

if soul is recycled

in new incarnation

til lessons are learned

(a lengthy furcation)

if judgement of life

is given by guy

bearded and glowing

son by his side

if that fella’s biased

by faith or by name

if Jehovah and Yahweh

and Allah’s the same

if we’re simulations

and never leave pod

projections for gamers

a hologram spot

if God’s an electron

a quantum equation

a “hard to pin down”

root of creation

so who’s to say

death’s better than life

the area’s grey

not black & not white.