HAS SAID 40 TIMES
AND EACH TIME THE DOW JONES CLIMBS
AND IRAN JUST SLIMES
My mom takes me.
Therapists are very accommodating.
I talk with rhymes.
Waiting on slimes.
She walked through the door.
It started to pour.
She hands me a notebook thank you.
Therapists hate me.
But they collect a fee.
In the waiting room.
Connections of doom.
22 seconds later, I’m done.
I was writing, I wasn’t moving my lips at all.
She’s smiling, I’m sure of it.
She smiles me through the door.
My mom picks me up on Mondays.
She knows the way home.
She knows.
I've used up nearly all the primes of my life,
Heard all the whistles, bells, and chimes of my life,
And traced the seasons and the times of my life
Through the ambiances and climes of my life.
The squandered nickels and the dimes of my life,
The acts of goodness and the crimes of my life,
The dark despairs and bright sublimes of my life,
The loves, the laughs, the grimes, and slimes of my life,
The noisy words and pantomimes of my life
Make up the reasons and the rhymes of my life.
Author's note: This piece, dear readers, is, if you will, a sort of sequel to "The Seasons of My Life"
6x6
6 x 6 on my way
to 6 feet down...
I live in a tent on the sidewalk,
near main and 7th.
Just down the street there are courthouses.
That is where they dispense the law.
They tell people what is right and what is wrong,
and how to follow along.
Yet the story does not end
but bends around and twists back.
The summer of love gone wrong.
It is an old song, sung by trolls,
that live in high towers,
and eat well.
None can spell or even read,
but they do know how to feed.
Votes for better times,
eaten up by slimes,
that live in the garden
turned to a desert,
but not a dessert for any.
Just a penny,
in the can to buy beans
again.
Fungi, fungus, funguses thousand fold,
eukaryotic life kingdom of yeast and mold.
Ancient legends and myths from many times,
beginnings and ends through mulching slimes.
Egyptians sensed the connection in fungi to gods,
only Pharaohs allowed to have them as foods.
Consuming the fungi to become immortal static,
Mushroom stones in Mesoamerica enigmatic.
The Rig Veda describes the juice of Soma,
considered as precious liquid of stardust and earth aroma.
Indispensable in all worships and ritual,
similar to Greek deities of cognate ambrosia.
Consumed in Shamanic sessions to contact spirits of the dead,
fortifying long hunting trips an dreams thread.
Penicillin antibiotics against bacterial infection,
surviving the war with needed invention.
Psilocybin and psilocin magic shrooms,
DMT, acid blotters magic truffles booms.
Alice in wonderland and the philosopher’s stone,
introspective hallucination and psychosis throne.
Natures secret language by mildews organisms,
earths everlasting fungi dew compost prism.
There are mini-bunnies in between my fleshy toes
They live there in miniature rose bush that glows.
I watch them sometimes, amazed at their grimes.
Hopping between my big toe with green slimes.
Carrying passels of baby bunnies on their warm backs.
They visit each other, and laugh with tiny little hacks.
I sleep with my feet reposing in lettuce and worse.
Wanting them to eat up, and there are carrots in my purse.
Rewarding them for their yard work, glad that they glow.
Happy that their favorite thing in summer is to mow.
For they get out their lawn mowers and get all of the hair.
Off of my legs, that has been growing down there.
Loving them, despite the lies, despite the tears;
In spite of horrors, nightmares, fears.
We sing and laugh during our beginnings
Then fire the daff who helped our winnings.
Lay in wait, we cry, we take
Till we just can’t take no more.
They spin unholy tales and name the love they make
In the belly of their contaminated whore.
Survival, dear, who hears our cries, our lonely sighs?
The nights are full of longing.
Miss the good times, miss the bad,
Tearful slimes, make up songs. Sleep.
Get laid.
Miss the whore, we miss the madness.
Somehow we find time to clean the blade,
The weapon used to rid the badness;
The bloody, killing knife we keep,
We made.
My Snailippo Herd
Have you ever seen a snail go a crawling up a leaf
and wonder how it eats without some tiny teeth?
My back yard hosts the sailippo that grew from such a cause
without the need of feet nor hoofs, nor tail, or tiny claws?
He carries his house upon his back like any other snail
And slimes along the garden path wagging his short tail.
His eyes are set back in his head, his mouth is large & pale.
His call to other sailippos sounds like a tiny, siren’s wail.
He only appears in morning light among the fresh grown dew
or early evening’s fading light when night begins to brew.
My back yard hosts a herd of these that people want to see;
they come in droves and stare awhile, then give their coins to me.
There's something scary
Happening in this place.
I must be very wary,
And not leave a trace.
There are beings here
That just don't belong
They feel unnaturally *****,
So strange, so wrong.
It took so long to adjust
Each layer as filth accrues.
Centuries of cobwebs, dust,
Slimes, molds and mildews.
I spooked a bit their dogs and cats,
And made their youngest scream.
I tried to scare the other brats;
Mother said "just a bad dream".
I've tried wailing and keening,
But they just won't let me be!
They just won't stop cleaning, Cleaning, CLEANING
Until there's nothing left of me.
20190113
Grapes of wrath despite the fire
In your bosom they burn
Can’t coalesce or coerce pressing problems to retire
Alongside frustrations and disappointments in the urn
That your world turns upside down
In lean times
That your pillow eiderdown
Limes in slimes
Raining from your eyes tears
Like fast running river water
Currents whose spears
In their sharpness batter
Your self esteem
To smithereens
Screaming and bouncing in stream
Screens and pins
From your delightful past
Have swollen
Doubt bouts cast
In stolen, crestfallen
Seesaws when your morale squeals
In its full span
Deals and reels
A regret van and pan
Floating and showboating
Restraining the anger
Clear, ***** and nearby flying and floating
Pangs and gangs of hunger
Wrath can’t cure
Your dilemma conundrum despite its cruelty
Skewer, pure and sure
Peace of mind of the variety
That a level head
Without raising temperatures
Or ruffling feathers on a boisterous bed
Achieves in brand new conflict resolution cultures.
Hovering over the Lonesome Plane,
My spit a solace for a thirst,
Comes the razing Shines-Feet and Ghost hostily entrailed.
Will I Somehow,Someday My rest acclaim?
Right in the Jungle the scary Soul.
Thick and thin my back like a Machete steers;
Rumblings and Chanting my stillness sped,
Slipping through the Crystals of the Clefts;
Highs and Lows the Slimes My Footsteps shove,
Seems my bloods I descry.
Rustlings and Bangings seem friendlier;
Barks and hustles the clearer way prove;
Nearer now,the tunes clearly sung,
Warmest the applauds that bid My widest thrills.
Across the floor it slithers
Black tendrils creeping in
Searching for the beings
That revel in their sin
It spreads across the floorboards
Engulfs the carpets too
Gets in every single corner
Then makes its way to you
It gathers round the bed legs
Then slowly slimes it way
Feeding on your misdemeanours
As in your bed you lay
Then in a rush it heads for skin
Sinks into every pore
As it sets your skin on fire
Makes your muscles sore
Your heart begins to race
As it thickens up your blood
Pushing through your veins
Like lava through a flood
You won't know its happening
Until you feel your throat restrict
Then it leaves you in no doubt
That its your sins that it picked
Then finally it comes to rest
In the place your sins all start
It pierces its way through
Just like a poison dart
And when the darkness gets there
To the centre of your brain
It turns your sins against you
You join the army of insane
Onward then does Time ascend the eons it does build
Within the endless void of space which never shall be filled
Deep within the eons past, a Potency there compels
Horrors be extended from Evils which are Hells’
And herein do I dwell within Hell’s castle keep
With keys I do open doors and let the evils creep
Avarice and malfeasance let loose to run amuck
Despair and sorrow following, causing their havoc
Slimes that ooze and glisten with names that you know well
Cultivate and incubate the tribulations that are Hells’
I unleash the Hounds of Hell, in silence do I watch
Devoutly do they search - for souls they will debauch
Hounds of Hell cause someone to bid their soul adieu …
And now, my festered eyes await the soul they’ll bring from YOU!
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