Johnny needs a doctor--again
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JoeUser Forums
Johnny needs to see the doctor--again.
he doesn't play well with others
he has six faces instead of two and sits
marveling at the ability of bi-peds to
move seamlessly through each other,
he struggles with the necessities of cleanliness
and often wears his underwear several days in
a row, shaving is reserved for more somber occasions
and the grace of a barber's clippers have only
seen skull twice in forty years,
he manages to clean up for Sunday Mass, but
he's no cleaner for it, either inside or out,
in prayer he'll ask the Holy One for soap
and hot water, only the magic of the cleaning
powder and protection from the devil doesn't
last long,
barely till the sun sets, then madness makes
him Johnny again,
sometimes, by the benches outside, he'll dance in the dusk
of an ambient sky and sing praises and alleluias,
followed by a dirge of haunting--hollowed by the mourning
of no moonlight, then sadly fade away,
but in the night, Johnny hears the howl of the wolf and the
banter of questions asked and never answered--mad demandings,
feeble excuses, exaggerated schemes, manic scholarship,
and two big bottles of diet coke are familiar companions that
keep the night at bay,
in the morning, blinded by light, he'll seek the refuge of a sunken
mattress and sleep--dreaming of a way out of himself and some
somber local that can't see him or tell anyone his where-a-bouts,
sometimes seeking narcotic solutions and the haze of smoke from
elongated plastic bongs he contains himself moment to moment for
fear that the madness inside is a little too obvious to the outside world
and the look of him might drawn the police or scare little children,
yes, Johnny needs a doctor and a ticket off planet.
J. Masuda © 2005
he doesn't play well with others
he has six faces instead of two and sits
marveling at the ability of bi-peds to
move seamlessly through each other,
he struggles with the necessities of cleanliness
and often wears his underwear several days in
a row, shaving is reserved for more somber occasions
and the grace of a barber's clippers have only
seen skull twice in forty years,
he manages to clean up for Sunday Mass, but
he's no cleaner for it, either inside or out,
in prayer he'll ask the Holy One for soap
and hot water, only the magic of the cleaning
powder and protection from the devil doesn't
last long,
barely till the sun sets, then madness makes
him Johnny again,
sometimes, by the benches outside, he'll dance in the dusk
of an ambient sky and sing praises and alleluias,
followed by a dirge of haunting--hollowed by the mourning
of no moonlight, then sadly fade away,
but in the night, Johnny hears the howl of the wolf and the
banter of questions asked and never answered--mad demandings,
feeble excuses, exaggerated schemes, manic scholarship,
and two big bottles of diet coke are familiar companions that
keep the night at bay,
in the morning, blinded by light, he'll seek the refuge of a sunken
mattress and sleep--dreaming of a way out of himself and some
somber local that can't see him or tell anyone his where-a-bouts,
sometimes seeking narcotic solutions and the haze of smoke from
elongated plastic bongs he contains himself moment to moment for
fear that the madness inside is a little too obvious to the outside world
and the look of him might drawn the police or scare little children,
yes, Johnny needs a doctor and a ticket off planet.
J. Masuda © 2005
