Tuesday, November 23

heavy metal, morning wood.

c'mon.
what's better than the post-fullness-moon meddling,
and circadian rythmic derailing?
almost anything, really.
but what's even worse than a no-sleep late night?
how about a big batch of yellow A*lords beeping, banging,
clanging, and digging a long mutha-b!tchin' trench,
first thing at the buttcrack of dawn's earlies an' that?
directly outside the breakfast window??
what the mutha-uckin' heck, duders?!
look at these D*-blasters,
and remember what rude awakening means.
7 a.m. and it's diesel stink and undereducated shovel-bums
all up in my backyard.
progress is encroaching on the mountainous woodsly goodness.
from acres of isolation,
to swaths and swatches of desolation,
with no consolation in sight.
notice, too,
the doo-doo buttery density of foggy-bottomed obscurement.
where're the mountains?
out there behind all the clouds.
it's like a breathtaking view in exact reverse.
more like breath-holding, because it stinks.
***********
now, all y'all out there know i like words.
in fact, i'm not just loquacious, but verbose.
my prose is perpetually purple,
like an emperor of composition,
even at the worst of times-
but neighbors,
i've got to blow a little bit of my own horn,
a little tiny bit louder and harder than usual.
mushroom cacciatore, mutha-'uckas!
check the teleport:
holy sh!t-balls, kids.
words fail me...almost.
double-browned portobellos?
carmelized onions,
and sweet peppers,
and too much garlic,
and stewed tomatoes,
and a burly grabhand of herbs and spices,
and pretend chickeny seitan slabs.
you missed out, ninjas.
now,
if you'd shown up,
you might've gotten a bowlful.
i'm just sayin'.
however,
it would've been a battle-royal for the last scoople,
because the whole mutha-lickin' pot got gobbled.
not even a soppable dollop for the crusty bread to absorb.
skinny vegans know how to EAT, son.
fatness on the inside is how shark-gluttons get busy.
we take our victories where we can find 'em.
that's a fact.
these the horible heinie-hole-heads chewing up my backyard
can't stay forever,
and even more ephermal is the delicate deliciousness of dinner,
but the brights sides and flip sides are always there.
wins and losses,
gives and takes,
bellyholes and sewer holes,
same time and place,
each and every time;
never quiet, never soft.....

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