Last night reality got pulled over to take a field sobriety test. Compassion could barely touch its fingers to its nose. Peace and human decency could barely walk a straight line. The eyes that are the windows of the soul had difficulty tracking the world’s continual devolution into stupidity. When taking the one-leg test, however, criminality did just fine. But when asked to say the ABC’s backwards, common sense slurred a line from Nietzsche: “Madness is something rare in individuals, but in groups, parties, peoples, and ages, it is the rule.”
Some days wrinkle around the eyes faster than others. Some days trudge across the creaky floorboards of tiresome weeks, while others float through the air like a warm shower song steaming the bathroom mirror. Other days are filled with peace and prosperity, grace and goodwill. Some seek to be healed and held, others can’t even remember their name. Then there are mornings like this; so clear and bright, as if the rising sun is new day’s third eye.
We choose to be heard instead of turning hard. We prefer penitence over penitentiaries. Wind kissed instead of stone bitten. We desire kindness over cruelty, being over bleeding. In no mood to be contraband for doomsday’s band. Sure-footedly dodge flat notes dropping like bombs from the soul-whacked tracks of DJ Apocalypse. We dust cruel sulk from our human hulk. We breathe through the cold of ghost song to taste life’s psalm warm on our tongues.
Cruel minds of war write Dear John letters to the very air we breathe. Cruel minds of war draw bullseyes on the psyches of the innocent. Cruel minds of war take drag after drag off death’s cigarette. They sing glory to Bomb in the highest. Got wrecking ball bloodlines, sweat stilettos, are cold and empty as a tombstone’s womb. Cruel minds of war finger their rosaries of rage, see the world through hate-colored glasses. They go BOOM when you try to reason with them. Won’t be happy until they’ve covered every man, woman, and child with ghost tattoos, and have inked the world into nonexistence.
If you’re feeling cheesed off, or completely nuts. If you’re in a pickle, a jam, or feeling like your goose is cooked. If you’ve turned into a couch potato ‘cause you’re no longer bringing home the bacon. If you’re crying over too much spilt milk. Or eating crow, or too much humble pie. If you’ve turned into a bad egg or apple. If you’re feeling small potatoes instead of top banana—you should eat some different foods to put you in a better mood.
No need to murder a murder of crows, or sing a song of sing-sing too loud. No need to billy club a dance club, or cruelly stalk a beanstalk. Don’t turn your forearms into firearms, and fire holes into a fire. Don’t work graveyard shift at the graveyard, or rock out with rocks in your pocket. It’ll only make your guitar frets fret.
My little baby’s pj’s gotta life of their own. Their fluffy, bunny-print legs bounce at all hours. They add the sunshine song to morning’s lips. They pepper the hip with the hop grooving over the goodnight moon. Much sooner than I’d like, my little baby will grow outta her pj’s—a bright blast of upbeat jazz straight into womanly dresses. Then my bunny girl will bound outta the door, and leap into the arms of a loving future. Perhaps then, her adult ambitions will shrink her old pj’s into a distant memory. Bless my baby. Bless her pj’s and the life they long to live.
Florida man convicted of strangling common sense. Florida man arrested for building a meth lab in Applebee’s parking lot. Florida man tattoos Bozo on his cheek in order to face his fear of clowns. Florida man apprehended for making sex tape with himself in Taco Bell drive-thru. Florida man sentenced to life for trying to smuggle the apocalypse across state lines. Florida man caught cultivating the world’s smallest crop of marijuana on the head of a pin where angels once danced.
Don’t be dilatory when faced with glory. Don’t be late when buying a ticket for the peace train. Don’t defer your own birth. Don’t hold off on holding the hand of the one you love. Don’t dilly-dally when traveling the highway of opportunity. Don’t postpone calling fortune on the phone. Don’t temporize when being offered a word to the wise. Don’t hang fire when you’ve got an appointment with desire. Don’t procrastinate when offered a date with lucky fate. Don’t hesitate to breathe. Don’t hesitate to breathe. Don’t hesitate to breathe.
Just ‘cause you can separate the chain from the gang don’t mean you can always escape your pain. Just ‘cause you’re rich doesn’t mean you don’t have slums running through your blood. Just ‘cause you might get stoned don’t mean you’re as dumb as a rock. Saying you have family values don’t always mean you value the rest of the world. Just ‘cause your goose may be cooked don’t mean you can’t cook up some tasty reparations. You might scat a winter moon, but can’t croon the sun in June. You may have teetotaling eyes, but your grin may be 100-proof gin. Just ‘cause your heartsong might not be right for tailgate parties doesn’t mean it don’t full-on rock.