Poisonous in the wild, or so I was told,
overtaking the verges on the main road,
probably nothing after oversized daisies
perhaps, a gem or relaxation abates.
Mirror versus lamp, a stay of education.
Stock complexity produces verse upon verse,
selectively lit past occasion obliging,
stranger things have happened, mug in hand.
Manufacturing, bewildered, mixing with gods,
insanity prevails, or doesn’t, what’s it to be?
A hearty beverage should shut you up,
floppy and exiled a dual cause to permit.
Intruding the kitchen of a neater order,
mislaying directions so we may be free,
returning under duress, coming to my wits
smoking on the job sliding under heavy art.
A worthy cause to detox, give or take Tweetable,
powerful beginnings froth the psyche
overpowered funds sleep in their ignorance
staring back at me through the hospital doors.
Poles suddenly flip, crassly claiming dominion
comforting clichés a perfume for the masses,
slack and relaxed as nature intended,
cooking over a demise with the lights out.
Confounded by your perfume, washed over belief
constantly reading the same magazine,
staunchly wearing the identical vestments
beating the rhythm on another’s house.
Ruined by praise, that is your distinction.
Scathing reviews faced like flint,
carving out shadows to your better liking,
innocent items incriminate the better part.
Dormant cartoons relive the innocent joy,
habitation under the bed a given existence,
battering through walls an apposite lesson,
cleaning the space a happy sojourn.
The tail-end of milk necessitates a gatecrash
a promise of fame in your likely tirades.
Phoning constantly to confirm my misdeeds
repeat offence becoming a sporting chance.
Closing in on the valuables, lying askew,
removed for better standing, before becoming worse,
happening in the journey to a better catch,
eating on the job coldly guarantees notice.
Programmed to silence, politeness in measure,
walking like a board to e garner truth,
shaming repeatedly, despite admonishments
I still can relax knowing I stand erect.
Image credit: Mike Linksvayer, via Flickr.
This is part of RHYTHM, a section of The Learned Pig devoted to exploring rhythm as individual and collective, as poetic and biological, and the ways that rhythm dictates life. RHYTHM is conceived and edited by Rachel Goldblatt.