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WD-40 resistant, cranky
     mental gears no longer appraised,
honored, nor prized
as a precision crafted tool
never adequately utilized,

     when eyes stared blankly
     taking up space and
     time (sigh hence) during
during twelve years
of public school

passively mute as a general rule
ambivalent, whether I sank or swam
     during physical education
     time in the pool
evincing being in

somnambulant state giving
top notch 40 ache curs and a mule
a run for his/her money,
plus also outwitting
any motley fool

nonetheless garnering huzzahs
if challenged to silent duel
despite implacable blackened
barbs didst unspool
assaulting me though
vicious and cruel

fast forward to
Matthew Scott Harris
at this present age
once feigned numbskull,
     now deeply rutted,

     pockmarked, cratered, asper
     useful as fist size asteroid,
     which post mortem will
not surprisingly, definitively,
and conclusively gauge

imagine dissecting my
     fifty plus shades
     of gray matter
revealing analogously glommed
together one severely
gunked up bacteriophage,

where once upon a time,
     when a newborn babe
     feeling warmth mother's chest,
she long since
passed away forced guest

to attend masquerade
hosted by grim reaper,
a most nefarious,
obnoxious, and pernicious pest
intricately, handsomely, genetically
her cremated remains

     freed to the four corners
of the globe quest
inert particles integrated
within biosphere, she remains
perpetually in motion,

and never at rest
within infinite void
nonetheless...the spirit
     of (the late) Harriet Harris

passed the electric
acid kool aid test,
and thus continues
to sprinkle the world
wide web with zest.

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