- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Paradox of the Ritual
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The sunbeam is a baseball bat
shouting "Good Morning!" with all the presence and joy
of child in a restaurant who just dropped his ice cream
across the floor that I have to crawl across to reach
the pinnacle of all happiness
my bathroom mirror
which looks back at me and winces
We commence with our ever witty morning banter
MIRROR: "Believe me; you're better off not knowing"
ME: "Fuck off; I know what I'm doing. Let me see. "
MIRROR: "Really? You know what you're doing? Then I suppose you always brush your teeth with hemorrhoid cream?"
ME:"..............yes... I sometimes do. Now let me see."
MIRROR: "I really don't think you want to...”
ME: "Look here pal, it's my reflection. Now you start obeying the laws of physics or I'm going to replace you with a piece of tin foil"
MIRROR: "Fine then, but I warned you. Oh yes, you do have to actually turn on the light for me to work."
The light bleeds yellow and the mirror,
that damn bastard,
is correct in his assessment of the situation
The creature that looks back is from some other place
A magical land where moist hairballs and greasy dandruff
can live and walk and wonder how they walk and live
The little drool stain down the front of my nightshirt is a nice touch
Sometimes you just have to step back and take in the fine brushwork
The shower spits down upon me with the warm chemically treated matter that used to be water
Sleep has long since left, yet consciousness will not take hold
Caught in a limbo without the salsa I dance instead to the rhythm of my hands
scraping across my skin and scalp lubricated by love
...no... wait... not love... gel colored by red 40... close
Chemical treated matter washes chemically treated matter
and yet I somehow don't feel clean
or awake
It is the gentle caress of a southern wind across the back of my thigh
that awakens with the subtly of a migraine
Gasping for air, I stagger out in wonder of it all
Humanity? I hope not. If such could emanate from even one person,
we must be all doomed.
The creature now within the mirror would mock me if it could find the energy
instead it stands and looks red-eyed and drowned and pops a pimple,
fixes the face, (oh yes, there is much broken)
and grumbles "Good enough"
Escape from the foggy prison to look up at the clock
?
How can it be only six/be six already?
Didn't I spend an eternity in there only a second ago?
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 17 years agobeing on an early schedule. This poem was mentioned in New Poems Reviews. C.o.S.
pmbluemoonover 17 years agoVery gritty and amazingly accurate in most instances...mornings are so rough!
WickedEveover 17 years agoIt's early. I need coffee but I'm still reading poetry! I couldn't make it all the way through the poem. It was too freaky for a morning read. You brush your teeth with hemorrhoid cream. You really do, don't you? lol
Anyway, I was here. I read. And I do plan to come back and dive into this insanity again.
