Inward.

You don’t need
to know the science of
how a supernova glows,
in order to see,
so vividly
with clarity
these scars;
I sport them
proud, like how,
you probably sport
your caviar,
your mini bar,
Cuban cigars –
Dom Pérignon,
yawn…
this bores me;
shall I go on?
act like you don’t
secretly adore me,
forcefully,
bitterly,
lips sewn closed,
you’re confusing me…
how should I
have somehow known?
It’s not like
it’s rocket science,
my compliance,
I’m submissive
dismissive,
ever renewed,
do I ring true?
You bet I do…
Again,
Big Man
spin my head
around the room,
you’re mad because
my spirit doesn’t
comprehend the likes of you…
But you know the feeling…
good and well, too…
don’t you, Blue?
Mr. Passive Aggressive
in designer
spit-shined shoes…
never did I question
what the fuck
I see in you…
your horns curl inwards,
just the same as mine both do –
combustible
ignitable
you’ll see no surprise
in my open eyes,
I’m already onto you;
too ornery
too lonely
to look me in the eye,
even on the days
when they happen
to stay dry…
no time,
you’re driving,
or flying,
or speed-writing…
no time to talk to,
the Ace up your sleeve,
make my heart
childishly and stupidly
waste time in belief,
of anything
more than what,
we were, already,
turn inward again,
backward
wayward
can’t open your eyes
unable to stir,
the ash back to fire,
this place is absurd,
chasing the promises,
made inward.

Huh? PART 2

After what felt like hours of listening to Willow (my Mother) talk about what seemed to nothing but gibberish regarding her past experiences with “Satan’s Angels” (this is what she calls doctors and/or nurses), she finally started to get on a page that I could somewhat begin to read with clarity.

“Remember when you lived down south and I got the Shingles that weekend when I came down to visit you?”

“Yes, how could I ever forget that? That was awful – forever…”

And it was awful forever:
Willow came down with the Shingles Virus in her left eye while she was staying with me down south, over ten years ago. In her case, she had a delayed reactivation of the anti-bodies or something and basically in a nutshell: continues to live in chronic and severe optic nerve pain (which is supposedly horrific pain) from day to day.

“Well….at first, the docs had me on Vicodin for the pain; but when I went in for a checkup with my regular doctor when I came back up home, he said they had me on the wrong meds – and he put me on something for actual nerve pain instead, which worked like a charm…”

It was an interesting story, but my tooth was killing me and I could hardly concentrate on anything but my own chronic pain at the moment. Finally, she turned up the lamp that she keeps on the table to the left of her recliner and stared digging around for something.

“Well, that’s great Mom, that they figured out the issue – I had forgotten about all that but yeah – I remember how miserable you were that weekend…and I didn’t see you for a while after that, did I?”

It is occurring to me as speak these words that the weekend she came down with the Shingles was the last time I saw her before my traumatic injury and near-fatal experience that left me hospitalized for a year plus; she left with my daughter that day, and she and I had planned on her keeping Boo for a few weeks – she knew something was very wrong with my situation. She finally stops the shuffling and hands me a bottle of pills.

“These are the same a s what the y gave me for the nerve pain in my eye, honey…it’ll probably at least ease some of that nerve pain in your mouth…try it out, here”

She shoves the bottle into my hand and turns down the light again, sitting back in her chair as if her work is done.
And let me tell you: the stuff worked like a charm…

“Face-Down, Frog Modified”.

“And, Always Watch the Horizon, Okay?

On a super funny note:

If you have ever been skydiving, then you’ll know how true to life this clip is in regard to instruction…and if you don’t skydive – now ya know just about as much as those of us that do! :-)”

Inward.

Huh?

Huh?

You don’t need to know
the science
behind how a supernova glows,
in order to see, so vividly
these scars;
I sport them proudly
like you probably sport
your caviar,
your mini bar,
the Cuban cigars –
yawn…
this bores me;
don’t act like you
do not
secretly adore me,
forcefully, lips sewn
confusing me…
how should I
have somehow known?
It’s not rocket science,
my compliance
is a choice I make,
ever renewed,
ring true?
You bet I do…
Again, let’s spin
around the room,
you’re mad because
I can’t comprehend you…
But you know that
feeling…

all too well, too…
don’t you, Blue?
Passive Aggressive
in designer shoes…
never did question
what the fuck
I see in you…
your horns curl inwards,
just the same as mine do  –
combustible
ignitable
it isn’t any surprise.
That you’d be too ornery
to look me in the eye,
even on the days
when they stay dry…
no time,
you’re driving,
or flying,
or speed-writing…
make my heart shock
harder than –
a hundred bolts of lightning.

Last Night’s Fortune Cookie Message:

And, I swear to the Gods I’m not NOT making this up:

If we are all worms, try to be a glow worm.

Uhhhh, okay….does being radioactive pond-scum count?