On a whim,
a demon will grab a fist full of mind
slap it down- roll it out- sprinkle it with lye,
pull out its cookie cutter heart
press down hard...real hard...
feed pieces of sanity to its hoard....
half devoured they crap you out
into the shadow of an indigo night.
Clear the eyes
of the craggy miles,
slug down a cup of fog:
what is that sharp pain-that dull sound
just beyond the cobbled soul...
Something just isn't right...
stroke the cat
sweep the floor
croak "good mornings"
wash away that crazy gray:
snakes are in the showerhead...again.
Go for a long walk
pick some daisies
sometimes that helps ...
but not today
hissing is in the swaying veins of the leaves,
the locust eat throat deep into peace...
Stagger toward home
into a hearth of talking bones,
read the daily dread
stroke the cat again
take another nap.
Pray for a warm breeze dream
to move the bloom of life
back into its golden vase,
temper the pendulum
sweep the suckling demons from the chest...
where the hell is my rolling pin god
in all this ffin mess?