How Lovely

How lovely, isn't It, to have an 'off' switch, shotty wiring And all, And a presence lined up to ****? They are always there To cauterize the wounds of emotional castration Without desire to examine The blood pattern forensics, Chalking the splatter up To an affinity towards Jackson Polluck. Tears are to the meek As injury is to the bold, Chastity is to pureness As promiscuity is to curiosity. And what Supplemented activity relates to the character Defect of an over-eager search for validation? How surreal a menagerie constructed from Syringes full of sunshine. Currency crusted by blood in place of worth, Hopeful scribbles of the pale and placid carrying Small flecks of over packed bags under the eye Can seem when sunlight filters through rose colored lenses; How frighteningly apparent Connect-the-dot freckles and Spasms of the left cheek and Teddy bear smiles and Xylophone ribs and Bits of skin ghosted from lips become When refracted by a Narcissus pond— How I m p o r t a n t, How appropriate these sentiments: Perfect companions for the rolled-up-carpet's journey Of finding permanence along river bottom Set into the silt and framed with waving algae: A'voir, piggyback consistencies, Meet oblivion in shreds Blown out the back end of the skull In the instant chapped lip worshiper meets collarbone shrine. Such ready to leech services are no longer A necessity In the four hours of chemically enhanced rawness Stuffed with bile and bruise and suck and lie Hollowed of meaning, Save for the proverbial cholesterol of hope clogged in pores. But I awake in numbness, Cold and invalid, With my head pressed on Doubt's chest And my fingers knotting in its own Begging to be warm again.