Thor's moon.

duders,
i can feel it.
the iron in my blood is resonating with
electromagnetism from the future.
uh-huh.
lightning-striking viking berserker barbarian fury
is pulling that werewolfen manliness straight up
and out of my pores and sh!t, son.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
we're creeping up on another 'nother full moon.
a blue one, even.
a lot of things only happen once,
and even then, only when that big beautiful circle
has waxed ecstatic and poetic two times in one month.
...like now.
so what sort of one-shots are underway?
jeez,
i dunno, really,
but i feel a gypsy roma accordion and fiddle combo inside
my heart, and they're whipping up a fairly fairy reel
that keeps speeding up and spinning away,
out of control, a major disaster in a minor key.
yeah.
werewolf overdose, my ninjas!
bad decisions seem so good when the battle-beast
is beaming down from the wild blue-black yonder-
and here i was trying to figure out just why i was ingesting
8shot americanos and activating the angry edge of expert
overreactionary motormouthbite snarling savagery...
dumb.
i mean,
initially i figured i must've hit the self-destruct button somehow,
and was destined to send my insides out into the world
in an acidic dissolution of fairly traded stormswept espresso
and icy cold hot fire from the internecine entrails of the abyss.
and that's saying somethin', y'all.
then i looked up and saw the moon looking like a grey grainy
ghost, transparent and taunting, in the afternoon sky.
neighbors,
can a satellite gloat?
i swear the old man in the moon was sneering down
in a snidely sh!t-eating ear-to-ear grinchy grin.
but it wasn't met with chagrin, kids;
rather,
a sweeping relief hit me up on the patio of my local
commercial coffee shop as i recognized the laws of nature.
and of winning.
i fought the law, friends,
and the infinite order of the universe gave me a glimpse
of what really real omnipresence is capable of.
cyclic surges in animal instinct and raw-nerve raging
against poor decisions and innocent bystanders.
just sayin',
competent communication becomes combative beration
and unabashed abuse,
heaped heavily on all the minky
mutha-uckers mistaken enough to think
themselves safe from my misunderstood miserabilities!
c'mon.
werewolf sh!t, ninja.
i'm howling and collapsing and caterwauling and maybe
even wassailing with the best of those shape-shifting
bone-breaking bent-backed hairy beasts,
unburdened by propriety,
but balls-deep in active participation.
i'm answering the call, y'all.
y'know- of the wild?
that's real.
***********
my weekend was forty eight hours long.
beyond that,
it was pretty much unproductive.
i'm blaming orbital interference,
and crying foul.
not foul, really, as much as unclean.
a little bit dirty, even.
besmirched.
schmutzed.
soiled.
doo-doo buttery.
that's it.
inhaling firearm solvents,
stump-smoking,
coffee-drinking,
dehydration mouth-panting (like a wolf, b!tch)
whole roasted garlic-clove an red-onion pizza partying,
and generally getting stank, stained, and smudged.
it stunk on ice, kids,
but not half as hard as back to tattbombing does.
time is ticking away,
this note will self-destruct in eleven seconds;
never quiet, never soft.....