My pet shark is quite unruly, and won’t listen to a word I say.
I took it to shark obedience school––which cost a pretty penny, let me tell you––
but he didn’t respond. It was practically as if he was completely unaware
of the training at all. In fact, just between you and me,
some of the other sharks didn’t respond so well either, and would go into a frenzy
every time instructor would try to feed them.
My poor shark. I can’t take it anywhere.
Most of my friends won’t visit anymore…. they say they are allergic… Ha!
I’ll bet they aren’t allergic at all, I’ll bet they are just scared. . .
For no good reason, I might add, because it is not like I let him hang out
on the couch.
My shark’s name is Silly. Because he does seem silly and restless and swims
back and forth and doesn’t respond to much of anything and hardly ever smiles.
Don’t tell him I said so, but I’m thinking of setting him loose,
I’m thinking of setting him free into the wide ocean somewhere,
and finding a pet that can offer a little more affection and interaction now and then.
Looking for the heart of gratitude and forgiveness,
asking for light to enter my heart and forgive me.
Wanting to forgive myself and accept myself and love myself,
and have no fear of all these thoughts, emotions, shadows and
illusions that appear to be so real––but, I hear, are not real––
powerful but unreal––even a memory is an illusion
because it is filtered through thoughtand emotion. . .
and the images of the memories are seemingly random,
like a slide show, and who knows when
or why they appear, or why they appear when they do, or
what they mean. . . or if it is just natual processing. . .
like leaves blowing in spirals in an autumn wind remembering
the past spring when they were budding and growing so green
and with such eagerness and urgent joy and force and now
have let got of the branch and turned gold or red or brown
and are swirling in the chilly storm wind of fall,
dancing in the air one last time on their way to the ground,
maybe to dream again of spring and summer and all the life ahead.
I just want to be harmless and live my life
with love and compassion and joy in my work
and learn to love others in a generous harmless way.
.
Sizable hippopotamus lights a cigar and prepares to ease himself into the muddy River– it’s moments like these, he thought, that hold eternity together and keep it from flying apart at the seams.
The wreckers I have
humbled by the furry dogs
near the Hilton
all the thank you robots
in the lobby lines
somersault by the hats.
Time plays with its umbrella
and feeds us to the bartender,
doing tricks ~ (Twirling bottles
In the air)
as if he were a gigolo
trying to impress —
evolutionary lack of caution
makes me roll the dice
ever more frenetically
across the sweet green fur
of the table,
and then spin the roulette wheel
ever more frantically ~
betting red and black, and
red, and black, and even zero
from time to time….
like its nothing.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Points McGillicutty was a whiskey drinkin’ fool is what most of ’em would say.
Not that Points cared none or listened to any of that tomfoolery bushwhackin’ nonsense.
No wonder he drank the whiskey is what I always tells ’em, what would you do,
comin’ in from the golf course and struck dead by lightnin’ bolts then brought
back to life again by different lightnin’ bolts –– hell –– no wonder ol’ Points is a
whiskey drinkin’ fool is what I tells ’em, and they shakes they head and shuffles off,
probly to they own whiskey hidden in the closets in they basements cuz I bet you
a c-note most of ’em is hippocritz that way ~ shows to go ya ~ lightnin’ juice ~
hell yeah ~ everybody need a taste sometimes ~ ain’t no excuse but it’s truth.
dj
world. or worlds. or world. or worlds.
bafflement couch. sunshine calling. me.
everything. everything calling me. at once.
when I want to do ten things at the same time,
I stand in the middle of the room, and don’t
know. just don’t know. I am made of water.
I am made of air. with a little bit of fire.
a fire that sets me on fire in the wind.
the ground. is. somewhere. I don’t know.
. . . the thing of it is . . . the thing-a-ma-jig was missing,
and the Chevy went all tremolo like a brand new hobo
bumming-a-dime from Marilyn Monroe. You know,
we were up there in Kokomo . . . stranded at Denny’s,
ordering infinite coffee, losing all track of time,
and getting second rounds of “Moons Over My Hammy”
when Junior remembered the chewing gum trick,
because he saw it in that movie, you know, and hallelujah!
I hate to ponder it, but if that hadn’t worked we’d a probably
gone crazy . . . or worse!
dj
8-16-16
