Taking what life throws at me one pitch at a time
another feral
fetid fabulation spun
from festering ooze
the nineteen nineties
a blur of awful choices
from professional
personal, financial swamps
to metaphysical bogs
Track the pink bunny
All under the hunter's moon
A #blur in the night
showing the whole world
the soft pink underbelly
of Corruption Inc.
The frisky fiend frolicked in the fetid fungi forest
Working in downtown Chicago of the nineteen eighties, I witnessed first hand the class warfare dujour. The jagged edge of the serrated social strata was clearly defined. You had your “fern bars”, where the yuppies (Young Urban Professionals) went. Then you had your tried and true old timey taverns, where the yuffies (Young Urban Failures) were known to gather. Both types of establishments were clustered together in or near The Loop
Pardon my gross generalizations, but I feel comfortable making that observation in hindsight. Then as in now, no faction has cornered the market on knuckleheads. Both groups grinding against each other in the serrated gears of commerce.
Ah, good times .
I think forever
Is a conundrum because
Nothing ever is
Time spent together
In a forever embrace
Cherished memory
Belief system held
Spawn from mistranslated texts
Misanthropic takes
Alternate realities
The conundrum of all times
Low tide shoots the moon
Raising stakes; win lose or draw
High tide calls the bluff
Phrazez that Payzez
Irritable mental gestures
That don't even resemble thought
Sow the seeds of discord.
First till the swampland
Plant the narcissistic seed
Reap bitter laughter
Always a future
That sprouts from what we do now
Act with that in mind
seems a whole nation
must sublimate the peaceful
to serve avarice
Phrazez that Payzez
The disordered divine
Beauty is a shape open to feeling.
If you step on mine
Then I'll have to step on yours
Life in a minefield
Unsteady hands with a key
Leaves many scratches to see
On the escutcheon
That protects the truncheon
Behind the locked door
That can break the glass
In case of emergency
I wear an escutcheon
Over my head to protect
My many stimuli keyholes
From falsehood formed truncheon
Metal escutcheon
Around perception keyhole
Is scratched and pitted
From inanities truncheon
Efforts to unlock function
Evil was seeping
Torture attic was weeping
Eaves dripping with red
Chilean Sea Bass
Patagonian Toothfish
Brand marketing ploy
it's been so long since
we said so long and yet still
I so long for you
a deep dive
that leads to
scrutiny of
mob motives
ends with
sleeping with
the fishes
See the long low tide
Reveal our murky depths
Needs scrutiny now
Waves crash on the beach
Sonorous background grumble
For raucous gull choir
the walking world day
painful steps toward the goal of
getting home to sit
will history strand
the lifeboat of decency
on blubbery bloat
Cover the pallor
Dapple it with fake spray tan
Soulless wretch shows through
Late Friday Night
Just turned nineteen
That sweet spot in time
The four years
Beer and wine drinking age
Dropped just in time
Now legal for a change
My now erstwhile crew
Would roll into Scatscio's
For a pitcher or two
Plus a marginal pizza
That left the roof of your mouth
Burned but satisfied
Hugo would tickle the ivories
In this ersatz piano lounge
My introduction to
Adult late night entertainment
Just about the time
This song appeared
On the FM radio playlist
Scatscio's was in
A large frame house
Transformed into
A neighborhood lounge
I don't remember
Which of our crew discovered
The pair of blue boxer shorts
Under a square piece
Of loose particle board
Lying on the floor
In the upstairs terlet
But for many years
When going to hear Hugo
For a quaff and a munch
One of us was compelled
To do the underpants check
By lifting the board
For a peek and a giggle
The blue boxers stayed
Silent and persistently present
Under a particle board
Lying on the floor
Of the piano lounge terlet
half a walnut shell
of water for fiddleheads
just enough to curl
bound with a ribbon
wrapped in the ties that bind them
couples secret bond
Thursday night caprice
A warm up for the weekend
Full tilt boogie buzz
Slamming the Royal Seal into the melted wax on another proclamation, His Nibs said in a guttural growl. “The only folk dance I am not allergic to is the polka. Others are too similar to my haphazard full bodied gesticulating hand jive which I use to hypnotize people into buying snake oil.
The laws you may flout
Lie, bloviate, and squeal
The poison will out
Before network news
Came Plan 9 from Outer Space
Then came the YouTube
the duality
of the event will arrive
eventually
footsteps behind me
rock of ages barrs my way
just won't cleft for me
A Scroll Threw Life 