taking it to eleven.

i know there's something i'm supposed to remember today.
i just keep forgetting what it is.
oh, c'mon, now.
seated in the heart of o.g. americanism,
i'm new england until the day that i die,
but that comes with certain preclusive assertions.
just sayin', america,
if you're gonna call it patriot day,
it should probably be something about american football.
or mel gibson, at the least.
melting tin soldiers into musket balls?
tomahawk axe-warrior chopping for vengeance?
i'd donate a day to deeds like that, for sure.
maybe it's me,
maybe not,
it just seems like whatever it is i was supposed to never forget
is constantly escaping me...
if only i had some of those 'terrorist hunting permits'.
yeah.
bumper stickers are patriotic, right?
sure thin.
don't get me worng, y'all-
vengeance is pretty flippin' rad.
payback with no-backsies and begetting whatever you've got.
even-trade opthamology and enamel exchange program dentistry.
you know-
an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,
and pretty soon,
everybody looks like they're either from up here,
or the minnesota iron range.
boo-ya!
a-ha!
never forget i'm a smarmy mutha-ucka.
wait, that's true,
but that's not what i'm 'posed to be remembering.
getting even, getting over, and getting it over with....
for real, though,
it's already been ten years.
ten yeeeeeears.
that's on that grosse point blank-type jauns.
freakin' out,
joining the army,
fitting certain psychological flexibilities,
and becoming hit men.
sounds pretty much accurate to me.
***********
here's something i'll remember for a while,
but can't promise i'll never forget:

yuuuuuuuuuup.
that's one big panniecake of a mushroom.
here's a proportional scale for your face:

a man-hand grab-slab-sized monster.
and if you've seen those sasquatch paws in person,
you know just how humongous that mama-jama must be.
you had better believe it's full-blown fungus season, neighbors.
we've got 'em if you want 'em.
everywhere we go, y'all,
there's dirt fruits a-poppin'.
*
seriously,
if you're gettin' a good night's sleep?
F* you.
the moon is making mega-moves on our minds up here.
the thin mountain air is letting in all the nightmare sauce,
and my scalp is tingling.
maybe it's danger sense,
maybe it's werewolf fur growing in,
maybe it's lunar ray activation of my nutrients,
whatever it is,
it's happening.
tidal waves of plasma are crashing on the shores
of my hot fire furnace,
and the steambath bloodbath of transformation
is interrupting my beauty rest.
weird dreams,
wolfen wariness,
and seasonal insomnia
make for one hell of an ugly warrior poet in the morning.
...even moreso than usual i mean;
never quiet, never soft.....