Matthew Harris | + Follow Poet |
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I Got Friggin Heebie Jeebies

I got friggin heebie jeebies

Cuz buzzards circle o'er me
eyeing these lovely bones prithee
id est Roy L. T. Canard, Si
hence impossible mission 
to be lovey dove vee.

Vague remembrances of dream  
which recurred with frequency
transfixed by Sir Real majesty
shows me and the misssus evicted.
 
Hum habitually hiccuping 
in tandem feeling woozy
virtually celebrating monarchism
with British Royal Family,
and about eager and ready 
to take a snoozy
so please pardon this poet 
exhibiting being a lil oozy,
nevertheless yours truly 
birthed the following verse 
a reasonable rhyme and doozy
considering yours truly tipsy and boozy.

Now this raggedy man
whilst deep in sleep
this past night 
what felt like galactic body
fell upon ma slumbering heap
affecting immediate fear
lest worst nightmare
viz management boot us
into emotional inferno

felt steel tipped kickstarter,
would crush with might
but lo… heavy weighted body 
just zee spouse
plunked herself into zzz land
immediately within unconsciousness deep
that's the husband unable 
to recaptcha pleasant dreams
well nigh past midnight.

Unable to shake away drunken stupor
nor defeat insomnia 
reliving sinister tête-à-tête
so...rather than emit shrieks
like some angry bird
idea arose to resume completing poem
expressing discombobulated state,
whereby sixty shades 
of grey matter feels
similar to thick whey curds
palliative sans restorative power
per rest hopefully clear muddled pate

plagued with grogginess
and marauding herds
of mailer daemons worse
than unsuitable mate
or a world wide web filled with nerds,
thus lethargy purged
via catharsis forming swords
follow rhyming pattern
to convey drowsy tipsy mood, 
a synonym for my words.

Noah respite despite eliminating kinks 
courtesy arched back from cat nap 
as ginned tonic, nor lion here
feline groovy getting high temporarily 
spells relief and serve as balm
with pillowed temptress ever near
beckons softly inviting calm
before this human 
goes awry and berserk on manic tear
being revisited from haunts 
inside head of this wordsmith
caught by men in white coats 
coming to take me away
Ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-ha, 

to the funny farm
straitjacketing this maniac
wrought with weariness
dark ringed circles around eyes  
showing Adonis long since didst veer 
Judas Priest or  
if you prefer heavens to murgatroyd
can't stomach bulge
spills o'er tattered underwear,
whose tushy by the way 
once upon a time 
about the size of average palm pilot,
yet taut for witnessing 
three score plus three mortal year.

This ole goat intoxicated, 
plus forcibly locked within 
fas paux blinding darkness, 
the pitch black common 
all purpose room
in disarray after Skyping English fete
at fictional Knock Less Apartments aye
daily encounter, one bewitchingly 

hair raising dreaded locked 
rooted tension doth amplify
fiendishly horrible, jeeringly loopy,
nippy nap noopy, 
pugnaciously ravenous, talon
viciously wizened, xenophobic yeti, zapping
zeroing zillion zippers,
zoned alley bye

barred doors fate helplessly jury-rigged
sealed with plaintive cry;
no escape known to this man caught
in a deadly voodoo clutch,
thus doomed to die
ugly cannibalistic, frightful,
heathen rumors myopic eyes espy
alarmed at feeling trapped

akin to a wingless fly
tapping reserves of scapegoat
coping techniques ingenuity,
which earned me moniker "fall guy,"
where accursed cruel fate destined exit
from getting husked, issued
jagged lance like mandibles "hi
there unknown weekly reader,” I

pray for super leftist
write hand man/woman to extricate
(via whipping up literary poetic fabrication),
then joining me to sing jai
(let victory prevail against killer odds)
perhaps summoning division
of British shiver rights phalanx,
hood reply with Hackneyed "oh kai"

springing surprise rescue,
sans swooping inside
mine hermetically faux invisible prison,
where this troubadour doth reside,
yet realistic to accept my
demise without putting up
a good fight well nigh
against inevitable mortality 

(out maws of death) 
gleefully depriving grim reaper
death his domain and 
eventual unavoidable claim, 
but if such kind unaccustomed soul
can cushion the blow of penury...
vis a vis philanthropic treatment 
manifested as deliverance   

courtesy anonymous altruistic benefactor 
plucking one bard
off downward slippery 
precipice of homelessness,
ye will be rewarded with apple pie
ala mode enjoying a Quai,
yet moment with 
Holden Caulfield doppelganger
made famous qua Catcher in the Rye.

Copyright © Matthew Harris | Year Posted 2023

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