resumption/resurrection.

how does one make a long day pass more slowly?
how could the clock's crawl creep more crappily?
how much darker is an indoor space,
on an overcast rainy day,
without lights?
all this and more was answered for me.
the power went out for over an hour in the middle of tattoo-time yesterday.
and that's always good news, yeah?
what?
did i start hand-poking in spite of the lack of juice?
c'mon,
what am i?
an A*hole?
no way am i working harder, and in the dark at that, duders.
so i waited.
-i am a patient boy,- i wait i wait i wait i wait....
what was the problem?
some heart-attack man hit a couple of telephone poles,
snapping 'em BOTH,
just to make sure the repairs were extra suckie,
and the time-out was extra long.
oh,
and he died.
which i figure makes us even,
even though he F*ed up the middle of my day an' that.
dying squared us up, y'know.
of course,
now i owe him one.
why?
because he was saved by the paramedics.
he's not dead anymore.
he saw the light,
he came back,
and then the power came back on.
true story.
i'm just sayin',
it's not your fault my day is crap because of the accident you caused,
but only on account of  how you're dead.
but if you come back?
well,
NOW whose fault is it, anyway?

***********
as if to rub it in:
guess who isn't breaking out any colored pigments today?
you betcha.
it's me.
it's black and grey gay day.
shady shaded operations,
in half-toned sections of hard pounded poking.
zapblasting away at all the soft pink bits of body i see:
armback light grey wings, first thing;
black names as an ankleband next;
and a triiiiiibal black spike rework and repair to round out the day.
three times the darkness, three times the doo-doo butter.
everything costs something, y'all.
we're busy, b!tchbags,
but with more of this stuff.
it's tough but it's fair, they say.
man,
it's a good thing that it's my friday-
otherwise,
i don't think i can handle much more of this big fun.
***********
truckloads of dirt,
truckloads of plants,
truckloads of mulch.
trucks'n'trucks'n'trucks...
it's a great big garden party up here.
i mowed the lawn the once.
it's enough for me.
full-blown all-out flower power,
from the boudoir to the bower.
'needs to be mowed'?
no longer. now it's needs to be mulched.
once a year.
that's better.
the days ahead are growing longer,
and still time remains short.
keep an eye out for friday, mutha-flippers,
because the big new hottness pops off.
until then,
all the rest is still really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....