and nothing else that’s new
a glimmer in the night precludes
a run on the food-bank instead
of milestones placed by runners
of sleds bearing gifts bartering
for smooth faces and wet loins
in the entries of clubs and bats
are leaving the confines of misery
to enjoy the bliss of ravens
when mockingbirds are parroting
the real estate magnates in the sand
for carrying out someone else’s trash
and why not says the ferret
who is a symbol of the ever-seeking
minds of tarot readers and shaman
alike in their quest for rhythmic
balance of power and might beside
the seven-eleven of their souls delight
only to find a carcass instead
of the bonfire inside that glowing
shell of mercy beside the walls
of brick and murder just above
the sealing wax which is funneling
into a bright new flower
back-and-forth in its repetitious
swings as this rhythm plays itself
right out of existence — for now anyway
sniff, slurp, cough-cough
and more mundane thoughts
in a random spewing decorate pages
with nonsense that may divine
some meaning somehow, somewhere
for anyone who will look deeply enough
without allowing the dense filter
of academic analysis to cloud further
the already vague images set forth
while the writer is in a fog
of illness and weary of sitting motionless
feeling the flash of time missed
out of synch with the environs and inhabitants
of the whole tableau set before the eyes
that wince with stiffness above the running
nose and dangling throat of raspy snot
and gooey slime that weighs down a mind
that’s better suited for racing and speed
rather than the confines of sluggish
non-thought, non-action, non-non and non-anon
so its time to quit and leave the rest for rest
…but I digress.