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Poem
Daemons within gray matter of this male run amuck...

hence yours truly (me)
seeks mental health services 
without any luck
even after reading Scripture 
from my namesake who exuded pluck
after paging thru 
the AETNA Medicare directory,
whether a group practice or individual,
I expended energy and precious time today
June sixth two thousand and twenty four

hoping to get linkedin and truck
with a suitable therapist,
cuz various and sundry issues
such as chronic anxiety, dysthymia,
obsessive compulsive disorder,
and panic attacks plagues
sexagenarian old body electric
matter of fact mein kampf
and hard times reducible 
to four letter description
conveyed by the word yuck.

Exhaustion prevails courtesy emotional distress
self evident to any anonymous reader
predicated on morose poetry of mine
invariably discouraging positive ambitions
for friendship receiving,
yet I experienced 
unexpected welcome response
from over the hills and far away
where Teletubbies come to play with me,
whose fealty being a bosom buddy
gratitude sexagenarian does express
and so what if three score
plus five year old does regress.

Once upon a time 
more than half century ago,
in a faraway galaxy
this second born and singular son
of Harriet and Boyce Harris
(mother and father since passed away
May third two thousand and fifteen,
and October seventh
two thousand and twenty respectively) though
both parents during their lifetime
beset with impossible mission
to administer to my psychological woe
and actually unwittingly exacerbated

dysfunctional behavior of mine
exhibited, jump/kick started,
and witnessed videre licet
courtesy their verbal
browbeating with ultimatums
aghast at irregular impulsive decisions
to attend this, that or another institution
of higher learning
post high school graduation
psyche subjected to actions experienced
being whipped back and forth,
to and fro, hither and yon
analogous to ma yo-yo.

Scads of irrational thought processes
bombard nooks and crannies 
within me swiftly tailored 
harried styled noggin
sense and sensibility
doth create veritable boondoggle
stumping psychological masterminds
even Sigmund Freud himself if alive
would be mystified and ask ghost writer
of Mary Shelley to craft sequel,

where Doctor Victor Frankenstein
rids trademark neurosis of mine
shape shifting Matthew Scott Harris'
witnessed when whirled 
wide web of electrodes
activated courtesy toggle
subsequently flash brilliant lightning bolts
in tandem with deafening booming thunder
reconfiguring bitta bing bitta
chitty chitty bang bang switch  

rendering corporeal cerebral flesh
truly significantly reconstituting
dogma, enigma variations, karms,
and persona of aforementioned
poet of Perkiomen Valley into altered state,
whose psychological state now mimics, 
dovetails, and approximates 
that of Neanderthal man 
forever linkedin to seventh heaven.
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