I’ve got an itty bitty

witty ditty just

under my arm–

no harm!

Though it’s pretty gritty.

You know what I mean–

In every way it’s coming at us:

Life, speeding faster and faster

foreward and toward

a showdown.

________________

I tried to meditate tonight

but metaphors came out on foot

to mock my battered soul…

What poppycock! Delusions

of grandeur hold warped mirrors

before me, visiting in the wings

to mock me.

______________________

Intellectuals by Paul Johnson sobered me into reality: Rousseau abandoned his 5 newborns in unidentified baskets, and Bertrand Russell is revealed to have been an unspeakable bounder, after Russell’s Autobiography had made me (temporarily) a fan of his.

______________________

My “transitional object” was not a blankie, but a book. There’s an unheard whistle of anxiety when I have nothing to read.

_________________

I read The Dream of the Underworld and ran away from Jungian analysis.

______________________

The cat has nine lives? Many more

than me. Do we both go to Heaven?

Evolution has set us up

to think with faulty data.

Defense mechanisms betray us…

By the bye, I caught sight of me in

an alternate universe last night.

She was me but younger and

so much wiser!

She said to tell you [me] hi!

_______________

Prostitutes are now sex workers,

Slaves are enslaved people.

When will a versifier

become a poet?

___________________

Grab a piece of reality and

take it with you when you journey

to the Other Side.

___________________

Word salad is a symptom?

How can that be? Early English

sounds daft to me.

….STOP! Just stop it!

I need a respite

______________

Do all anchor men wear

lipstick now or is that

just gloss?

______________

Everyone really does hate a bully.

When will they remember that?

_____________

Some have made fun of the flying monk

who flew around the church

wearing no underpants, and

became a saint. My book

The Occult tells about it, and

Yeats, Graves, Mann and Leibnitz

are believers. And the Catholic

church: he’s a saint.

____________________

2-12-18 Alas, poor car, you did me no wrong. If we had forged a spiritual bond, I broke it that February day. Was I woolgathering or was his tail light out? No mind. Spilt milk. Misdeed done. I never knew the freedom you brought me until the day we parted on Route 7. Oh my Toyota Matrix 2003, I miss you! I’m sorry.,

_____________________

I heard someone crying. It woke me. Maybe in the upstairs condo? A muscle in my arm twitched. I recall snuggling with my old blind deaf cat, “Lucky.”

_____________________

Maybe death is not final.

Whoopee

There’s enough hell loosed on Earth

for another one? Is He really recording

His list and checking it twice?

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That’s all, folks!