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03/17/09 - (1)
Aphids, Ladybugs, and Ants
This not-so-fine (as it's turned in and out) morning, Accompanied by the incessant roaring, this time, Of aphids, ladybugs, and ants, Not the usual tornado swirling five feet away, You awakened to a fire in your arteries and veins, A conflagration deforesting your heart, sucking in its oxygen, Leaving breathing choking on its carbon dioxide.
So ferocious was the pain throughout your flesh bag, You clutched your chest, legs, broke all ten of your toes, Bloodied your nose, with both fists, Poked out your left eye, squeezed your gonads till you cried. But now that the paroxysmal fit has subsided, Except for sore testicles, partial blindness, gnarled toes, Dried blood on your face, you seem just fine.
You've been down this torturous, tortuous road before. After all, aren't such physical tribulations relatively routine, More normal than your dreams are willing to admit? Always, the trick is one of extrication — Disappearing gracefully, if obliquely, into opaque morning. Today, you'll pray for a howling tornado To blow the roaring aphids, ladybugs, and ants away.
03/17/09 - (1)
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