Brief Setback
The monkey on her back
Had a manipulating hand
Half way up her fanny,
Causing the panic,
No less than memories
Of her rape by that Hispanic.
The kitchen made the top of the list
Of unfortunate locations
Fated for this day's evisceration
Of it's usual order
And humble,
Aesthetic countenance.
Utensils
Were the props
For her fingers of anxiety,
Sounding out
Like the rattle of vibrating cannons
In the confines
Of a cold rusty barrel,
Making tables tilt
And float;
A convincing drama
That could fill a spiritualist's coffers
And prevent any veiling
Of the pleasure,
Begotten by the night's take.
A manic face-pull
Accentuated her teeth;
They became the size of piano keys,
Making up-and-down motions,
Not unlike
Those made by the jilted;
Cutting up
Pain-making love letters
On a heartless night alone.
A delicate child
Prone to fainting spells,
Could no longer be found
In her stringy visage;
Almost masculine build
From a decades' dalliance
With her pharmakoi muse,
And the ingredients for temporary moods.
The concoction also bruised her,
Deeper than skin deep.
Penetration
Reached her delicate soul.
That wasn't a concern.
The concern was her need to find
What she fiends;
Anything less than victorious recovery
Would be seen inexcusable;
The seriousness for a win,
A symptom
From what her connect told her;
"No more cuffs."
Burdened With Awareness
A tourist's eye tears up
Looking down
At a foreign human spectacle
Walled in by ditches piled high
With the laundry of vagrants
And accompanying rejection notices
Hastily scribbled on vulgar parchment;
All observed through a barrier
Of tourist bus windows.
Mud-streaked faces
Stained with unmistakable sad
Failed to escape his notice;
Contrasts too vast to contemplate;
Those with his home's neighbors'
Pre-adults crashing college kid keg parties
In a different flavored neighborhood.
Hunting for answers
To tragic world reality
Competed for most probable unsuccess,
The challengers being an expedition,
Hunting wild elephants
With Hasbro dart guns.
The traveler,
Feeling buttock fatigue
On seats too stubborn to give way
To an average man's weight
Lost hold of his self image.
Smudge-like,
Reflections mimicking the long ago reflections
Found in resin-caked bong glass.
Symptoms of this nature
Were children of a society
Fermenting like spoiling fruit.
Even bedroom mirrors
Were infamously two faced.
The climate hosted suburban pillows
Who tattled wickedly
On their respective above-the-neck jockeys.
The obscenity made a laughing stock
Of formidable disgust
Brought on by the insane 'what-if' day dreaming;
A Flintstone and Rubble swinger's night.
The bus wheels' ball-bearings
Continued their grind
Out of the cage,
Keeping poverty's greatest numbers
And into places
That opened up wide
Like a canyon vista on plains,
Arrow-straight as railroad ties,
Stretching across country prairie.
If nothing else,
A compulsion was born
To garner efforts
Securing front-cover to back-cover inertia
For a book he remembers
Awakened his consciousness
From a decades-dead apathetic slumber.
Back To Work
This day was christened
The Day of No Rest;
Not even Ferris Bueller
Could get this day off;
Even God was ordained
To suffer writer's cramp
From writing a book
With 66 chapters.
We worked in a shop
Apathetic to our sweat;
Turbocharged assholes with ambition
The size of King Kong's balls;
Politically anointed
And tattooed with Inc.;
Casino and whorehouse
Rolled into one;
Incentive worked like elbow grease;
Sweeter than the rack
Freud's mother had.
It was Compromise Central;
Where angels choose
Pearl necklaces over wings.
I'd bet the Pope's upside-down cross
This was the last lifeboat afloat.
Behind the Curtain
Like stars that extinguish
And vanish in the firmament,
So mote it be
With the notions of man;
Their imaginings of events before them
As a roulette ball
Dancing in the air,
Condemning it to eternal spin
On the wheel
Of fate's blind destiny:
The fruit
And results
Of which its author could neither feel
Nor foresee.
It is not as the confused mind
And eyes of man
Imagine it to be.
Voices from invisible beings cried out,
Exciting curiosity
By disclosing hidden secrets;
Pouring forth the fullness of days
As an unraveling scroll
Tumbling down a perpetual hillside:
The seer;
No longer thwarted from his love;
His tendencies;
His aspirations.
A panoramic vision of men on horseback
In the air,
Clad in gold brocade
And armed with lances
Now share his native field.
