March 27, 2020

Life Is Messy

death is clean, life is messy
always a cleanup on aisle 4, 5, 28 or someplace
it leaks spills slops drops breaks slips 
the charade of life breeds cut throat unhappiness
I volunteer for the hopeless army on a suicide mission
neverending aggravation wrong station
bleeding over transmissions of missions
static coming through clearly
crackle crackle crackle pop
radio pressed against my ear late night in bed
laying low under the covers like I’m in a foxhole
mutual broadcasting on the westinghouse network
or something like that
if it’s not too late maybe it’ll be too late 
so many things are possible in the dark
things seem so much more manageable when they aren’t real
away from stark realism’s dark alleys
I’ve never been mellow--a quintet of nerves playing fusion jazz
in some weird 9/4 time squeaky horn out of control
life is a minefield not the first to say that
falling asleep to the news they say I need to know but I don’t
I’m so tired Uncle Albert
don’t really care if I wake up or not

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