full days, full moon.

working under the duress and stress of a fully-operational full moon?
i must be crazy.
actually, if i wasn't going loupe-garou kook-a-loony,
i don't think i could handle the heavy workload of family togetherness,
packed-tight tattbomb scheduling,
woodstove tending, firewood stacking, snow shoveling, epic mealtime making,
and back and forth caretaking and tending to all these half-helpful/half-helpless
homegirls and harpies and hellhounding terriers that seem to need my attention.
calling it hectic is underselling it, duders.
plus,
there's a mumpy lumpy bandaged mummy in my master bedroom.
yuuuuuuuuup.
sooooo,
what kind of an A*-hole plays nurse to his estranged wife
while she convalesces with a mangled-up swollen black and blue face?
this kind.
huh?
yeah.
i don't get it either.
or maybe i do.
i mean, for the better part of this year,
every day has been the worst day,
and when i was feeling beat up, bruised, and feverish with pain,
although admittedly of a different sort,
i would've killed an innocent grandma in exchange for someone to offer me some succor.
i see the present circumstances as a cut-up nose spiting it's own face,
and the get-busy tenderoni freshness of me and my girls as an example of keeping it
truly really real.
i guess that's the difference between indifference and warrior poetry, huh?
we do the right thing because it's the right thing;
and that's because when we particpate,
it's active, and it's principled.
i'm too tired to write any more of this,
but suffice to say,
the werewolves are pacing,
the wounds are packed,
the silver light is a bulletin board for brutal barbarism,
and the hot and fiery hearth of this homey Folk Life & Liberty Fortress
is keeping our hard hearts warm.
...or maybe just softened up barely enough to offer some substance and sustenance
to the wounded, weary, leery, bleary-eyed, tearful, cheerless wretch upstairs.
i don't know what it is,
but it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....