n o p a n a c e a

no panacea— no simple solution, no figuring it all out
the ducks will never stay in a row, those fickle ducks!
getting ahead won’t happen or it won’t last for long
nothing will last — all wells run dry  — endurance falters
new ailments arise that the usual remedies don’t touch
our security, too, is volatile; our safety an illusion
tonight our days have definitely diminished by one.

so what’s the point, how to go on?

struggle forward for shit’s sake!
grin and surge headlong into the abyss
forgetting the snares and gnaws at your feet
to hell with your insignificant flaws or regrets
that extra doughnut you should’ve skipped—
TOO LATE NOW!
go on from here, make it real, make it happen
and don’t be such a selfish ass along the way,
help another along and be kind, you smug punk!
it wouldn’t hurt to smile a bit more either,
maybe a little humor could ease the burden
of someone in pain; so don’t take yourself too
seriously, never take yourself too seriously;
I mean, look in the mirror— what a shit show,
a cruel joke, what an old saggy skin bag! HA!

None of this sound very good? Well, run to your mama then.

This messy life, it’s what we’ve got. Have it, have it now!
Enough wishing for something else.
No more bullshit fantasy.
This.
The daily struggle, the bonds between us, the agony and joy.
The apathy and complacency, YUCK!
This.
Day in and day out, our best work. Our progeny.
Our precious, fragile lives.

unfucked by fire

kindle your fire with care
even if no-one else feels its warmth
others may draw close to the flicker
or maybe they won’t
whatever your course
keep that flame alight
and do what you must
to stoke your glorious blaze
unfuck your life, unfuck the whole world
with a few sticks at at time

wild ride

great fun to be flung around
at high rates of speed on
roller coasters, flying swings,
even merry-go-rounds—
much too fast for toddlers
and old folks though, whoa

amusement parks we call them;
wild, mechanical, herky-jerky joy

have you considered, however,
that our earth spins at nearly
one thousand miles per hour?

or, how about the thousand
bacteria species alive in your gut?

get some nachos into that crowd!

stand where you are and
feel the stationary in motion;
incredible, cosmic flux

embrace the ride and
raucous party that is
the dizzying, wondrous
amusement of human life

an abysmal reflection

not just hot air forced through
pursed lips while fiercely railing
against the injustice of stale
bread and moldy cheese—
those should’ve-been-sandwiches

much more than peculiar nods
toward the unanswerable,
flashes from the mirror of why

Why is there something instead of nothing!?

perhaps less than the jumble
of hastily scribbled reminders
and phrases stuck to the wall:
     1) clean bathrooms, do laundry, thaw sausages for dinner…
     2) “Handle each grain of rice as if handling your own eyes!” (Dogen)
     3) “No man is a toboggan.” (anon.)

What use, these words when the rafters fall!?

bare soles and illusory souls
still reveal only fragments
of the grand mezzotint print,
past deeds, memories and hopes
mysteriously heaped together,
our curious pursuits and endless
yearning toward big love and away
from the background ache of malaise

What of it, the whole deal and my involvement!?

a brilliant mess here, this mind—
an indigo moth flutters past a
horse-drawn school bus winding
along a dusty mountain road,
teetering above the edge of
an impossibly calm, deep abyss

ABYSMAL, these haphazard thoughts,
you’ve already thunk in hasty judgment,
perhaps, but the image is yours now too:

Have another look!

Yours and mine and none of ours.
All of this together, our collective
of sacred poppycock—

It’s our mess now … our mess now.

sausages and figs

morality police on high alert
upon hearing our plans for a wild
feast of sausage sundry and figs—

few prepared for the casings’ snap,
juices gushing or mind-blowing flavors
as brätwurst, salami, linguiça and
salt-cured meats were devoured

all the wine, beer and sausage-gobbling
left the group swooning and ready for
pause, but not long until
yearning for sweet climax

an enormous platter of fresh figs
enticingly drizzled with honey
thrust into our midst—
eagerly groping smooth skin,
one after another parted to reveal
the fig’s fleshy interior, pulling its
essence delicately into mouth…

OH!

finally, with satisfied appetites
a frantic unzipping chorus rang out
as bags ripped open to reveal bibles;
abstinence pledges resolutely
reaffirmed before the almighty
giver of all the deliciously holy.

wisdom plop

venerable ancients shat
as the riffraff of today—
plop by plop, but in full absorption,
fully endowed with stench-essence

truly remarkable an adept
of this time and place
to lay waste without
designs of producing
everlasting effervescence
of rose and lavender

what a shame to not know
our true, wondrous shittiness!