Poetry: Myself to Me
(myself to myself on myself for myself)
When you hear the clamor of the birds loud
shrieking shockingly it shouldn’t frighten
you they simply don’t realize the magnitude
of the head of sand that gets washed away
onto your shoulders and violates sanctity.
Did you realize that just one single piece of
toast preferably marbled rye would be the kind
that could wield so much history so much
jam that much influence? It can be awfully
precarious so awkward especially when
it isn’t steady you aimlessly paying no mind.
No care in covering the edges Why
would you? Lions don’t bolt out of the
the jungle just because they are bored
oh no, they take their time they lie in
wait they explode off the line they will
maul you gorge you rip you open dead.
It’s kind of like that so slow realization
that rain seems somehow louder at night so
much more romantic than it does in
the blinding sun of day in the light of a
closer introspection a deeper meaning but
yes you already surely knew that didn’t you?
Tobacco stains looked so worldly on that
old man from Gunga Din, he didn’t seem to
be bothered that you stared at him as his
stubby yellowed fingers flicked boogers
the size of grapes onto the stained scum
of pavement strewn with paper and shit.
Three times around the dread moon should
buy you enough time to figure things out
the silly things you hold so goddamned dear
just be careful because they are all like
honey from the spilt jar: still sticky so
relevant barely manageable drying up.
Don’t go rummaging through the forest when
the trees are closely huddled there are
secrets and lies and hypocrisies surely you
will quick unravel at the first crossroads end
up spitting your teeth into the quiet milieu
all gums and no bite harmless in every way.
Sit and sob of things you thought you knew
things that fell out of the hole in your
pocket if you do you’ll end up wandering the
floor like an addict pining away for the hit
that will end the suffering of all suffering
that will bring the great expanse homeward.
Never crossed your mind that impermanence
rhymes with happenstance in an off-rhyme
kind of way? That all the saviors through
time are dead carcasses in someone else’s
silly idea of a novel and so leave it to
you to squeeze toothpaste tube from the
middle did you forget you were toothless?
So drift dream cry scream it’s all the same
during a dance with the day come what may
delight in all the small details you think are
so precious that you think are so important
It still belies the fact that at this time
now you are out of jam. What a shame.
(upon waking from a powerful meditative sleep)