No exit allows egress
No exit allows egress...
forever dooming how the missus and I relate
where interplay, foreplay and coldplay
insinuated themselves within mine pate,
once I espied and entered trap door to late,
thus now ensnared and inextricably
caught into the web of deceit
courtesy my own making
detritus of sundered scattered corpses
a stark prelude of unpleasant fate
awaits yours truly,
whereat once harmonious convergence
between the writer of these words
wrought havoc upon the wife
courtesy unfettered wanton lust
towards Alice in Chains,
where hook, line and sinker
no match for Jane's Addiction
a false nubile prophetess,
who promised me everlasting love
damning eternal conjugal bliss
that weathered category five emotional Hurricanes
ever since I tasted verboten fruit,
and suffered pierced airing of cleft marriage
courtesy nymphs young enough to be my daughter
unduly flattered,
where refutation towards doxological pleading
denied late connubial transgressions
doomed to be forever estranged
from kith and kin
both those related by blood
and those connected
by friendship and close acquaintances
sacrificed on the altar of pledged troth
half-life of mine after I became spellbound
when a four foot eleven contra dancer
surreptitiously snuck up
and surprised yours truly
with a smooch on the lips
years before banshee
freed from tempest in a teapot
only discernible to me
(a veritable hobgoblin in my head)
shrieking bloody murder
while poet of Perkiomen Valley
rode first class on the Orient Express
enroute to a place
in the outer limits
of the twilight zone named Willoughby,
where dark shadows creeping
along the edge of night
signalled storm of the century
slated to make landfall four after midnight
no escape for this running man
unable to Carrie on camping
cause he lavished being attentive
and gravitated towards
the alluring, beguiling, charming...
sexual innuendos hinting
of implicit indirectness
and double meanings
to convey a suggestive or risqué message,
where no doubt
(after I texted explicit premature ejaculations)
she unexpectedly got ghosted
triggering her to Rage against the machine,
where the ability to communicate
seething hormonal secretions
suddenly stifled when stark realization
and horror of his marriage
(that endured two score and nine years -
in the beginning fraught
with tumultuous verbal altercations -
nearly coming to fisticuffs
on at least one occasion)
figuratively being shattered
into a million little pieces
where all the King's horses
and all the King's men,
couldn't put (M. Scott Harris -
a stand in egg head)
for Humpty together again,
whose realization for desperation and reconciliation,
(which rupture defied repair
even with the expert assistance of Maggie Jaramillo
a recovery coach of mine courtesy Creative Health)
cause apology came too little to late,
and essentially triggered,
thus all around misery
spelling abomination, decimation,
and humiliation wrought
steely dancing imps of the pervert,
and where ruination descended upon
former kingdom of love and delight
analogous to an emotional quake
epicenter in the heart and soul
leveling corporeal entity and lovely bones.
Copyright ©
Matthew Harris
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