Sunday, July 21


it's been a boiling-point type of week.
i've lost my cool, gotten hot under the collar, roasted in the heat,
burnt in the sun, boiled in the humidity, fried on the hot pavement,
seen red, redlined, and red-alerted......
but somehow never got the hottness to happen.
yelling, and sweating, and blowing fuses inside my haywired brain
are all great ways to ruin a perfectly salty summer cellar dweller's
haunted homesteading with harvest and maple.
nobody likes an irritable and irascible rascally rapscallion....
do they?
well, i'm sure some people might.
just nobody i know.
we slept in the living room.
the sunless shelter shielded from the day's rays of irradiated heat and light,
under the expansive eaves and sprawling trees that keep the great hall
of this Folk Life & Liberty Fortress from the prying eyes and rising mercury
of these werewolfen hell-furnace times and places in the woodsly goodness.
that is no joke.
the supersummer wolfman flame job we're reppin' isn't making much easier
in terms of active participation and pack-mentality functions.
we've been outside in the gardens watching nature win,
but we've also been shedding clothes and manners and civility,
letting infinite nature win even harder and louder and hotter and sweatier than ever,
sleeping on the floor, on a questionably scented rug?
not expert.
i think olive the dog may have marked her territory for future reference
when she made her final lap through the lair she called home for so long.
sorta peepee rug times, on a furrowed fir-planked floor?
i gave the kids the futons, y'all.
and chose the wrench.
i mean, c'mon...
what am i?
an A*-hole?
no way.
savage and stormswept i may be,
but fun vacation dad i remain as well.
i do what needs doing, and i deal with the sh!t-salad that entails.
y'know somethin' kids?
these hard styles are getting to me.
i mean,
i fertilized it, and i pruned it, and i watered it,
and i rotated it in the sunlight, and i cared for it, and i nurtured it.
that's right neighbors.
i'm talking about my peach tree.
she had two beautiful peaches on her boughs.
two succulent, juicy, perfect ripening fruits.
i was so looking forward to that rich reward-type jauns.
you know what that means don't you?
check the teleport:
real life prevails.
every day is the worst day, duders.
that's the way it goes.
all that good intention and concentrated effort to grow something good,
and in the blink of an eye, and a climbing thermometer,
they went from almost ready to totally rotten.
a bruised and busted brown-spot blarp, with a green-slimed pit.
is that or is that not an allegory for everything?
all the times, y'all.
before i even see it happening, it's too late.
the tipping point is forever parallel to my peripherals-
blindsides, i guess, are the sides i take in every situation.
it's all really happening,
off-camera and out of frame.
nature wins, folks;
never quiet, never soft.....

No comments: