Also Mutants

Face Down

8-30-17

Face your thief; thank your demons.
We're all veins in the game of life,
         bleedin'.
Stay loose for the next fix, the best trick,
the joke sidestepped, or the misdirect.
Are you a function or conjunction?
Dysfunction or inappropriate adjustment?
Nobody wins by walking.
Nobody wins
         period
         like, stop talkin'.
Where's your fitness? You listenin'?
Bearing witness? Goals glistening,
         go-getting and fate-tempting.
         Self-righteous. Self-underling.
I'm not noting my lack of expectations;
your misplacement (of them) is bargain basement
which seems more than appropriate for
your appropriation of my concern.
You forgot how to be thought-provoking.
You're the poem, the ode:
         "The First Syllable Of Someone Choking".
And we laughed. And we cried.
"And from one begot the other,"
         we sighed.
I spent too much time explainin'
to too many people too many meanings
to too many things they don't believe in.
So much time wasted. Left deceived and
I've faced my thieves and thanked my demons.
We're for better and for worse
         our wisdom,
         our religion, and
         our reasons.
Dreaded and threadbare but thankful.
Heavy and mangled but still manageable.
Wondering.
         What is worth the weight?
Wondering?
         Nothing's worth the wait.
Move around. Stay hot,
or remain steady and get caught.
I know someday life will outpace me.
I'm not there yet. I'm not ready.
I'm ahead to some degree;
motivating friends and bating enemies.
Classic. No magic.
Face down; closed casket.
No static. Kingdom? Tragic.
Wisdom from the back,
         bottom to the top rack.
Seriously joking while remaining though-provoking;
I'll be the poem, the ode:
         "The First Syllable Of Someone Choking".