Whole lotta lumps

I feel like john
beating triple-horned
demons in my head
with a roofing hammer

“I gotta whole lotta lumps”

the constant dialogue
“do this, think that, what about…”
keeps both sides of my
mushy brain in a maddening
game of twister

I can’t breath enough either
or exhale
just a psycho-moment in
time farting out of me
and fouling the air
all about

it’s that kind of thing
good for entertaining, but
sadly noxious in a drunken
repose
even with the pain it becomes
less novelty
more common maybe too
common

I conjure safety and tease the
waters edge with a sliver of
soul
find the other nuts and sit
in the evening air
discussing the price of beer
and the chastity of henry’s
wife
cheap beer being the likely choice
in the affirmative

somehow it all settles to
sameness and the strange war of
thoughts find hangers to wait
closed in closets
till sanity comes again

J. Masuda © 2004
art
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