Screwball

Paint yourself a picture, it’s easy to see

You might be reluctantly absolving me

Of purity. Flaws is all I got, you see.

Sometimes my clothes fit beautifully.

Not so shiny and not too slick. Stains

Up and down my shirt, it’s inevitably

My nature, see? Will you work with me?

Put on a bib and feed me peas? No no no.

That ain’t the scene, Baby went bye-bye

In the Plasticene.

Lingering doubts of maturity, you can saw me open

And count the rings, it could be one to one

Hundred, what are you wagering? It’s time

For a little reckoning. That’s where we’re at.

Put on a new pair of pants that’s apt, see

the tailor for some metaphysical measuring.

Time to bury the past, the little boy. All the

Baby teeth and the Christmas toys. Mere et Pere

Under the mistletoe, memories of innocence and

Potpourri, aromas from many years ago.

Requiem for a cad, a foolish clown. Light the

Fire when the sun goes down. See where the

Blue flame energy alights. A metamorphisis of

Day into night. It’s all the same, don’t preoccupy

With the strife. There’s only three or four

Reoccurring situations in your whole life.

Circular it is, in shape, not a straight trajectory.

No sense waiting for an epiphany. Bit by bit, you

Will come to see, we fill the measure with purpose

And reason. Time and place may not align with

The itinerary of an upcoming season. Or the one

That’s just past. That’s our task.

Taurus the Bull is pulling gravitationally.

Perseus and Andromeda are still trying to work

It out celestially, for us mortals who can barely

Breathe or hardly see or sit and feel the chemistry

Not easily. Eventually.

On occasion work going on in the laboratory

Takes a little more time than what’s seen on TV.

This ain’t make believe.  It’s hard to know what’s

Really real. Thoughts, decisions, little impulses that

Can either hurt or heal.

So lay me down upon the rock and slay me. Put it

On line for more viewership virally. To be born again

In the early dawn, ancestor energy infused into

The recipe. I seek not perfection nor any sacred way

Renewal is nice, a restoration of the soul. When one lands

On the muddy swamp and has to go back to Start.

Roll the dice again and this time, pay more attention

To the heart.

Just for betting purposes, look at the odds. Bet on the

Screwball, even though he’s not that well shod.

Feel it and be. Think it and see. Bet on the screwball

And you might win, win, win. Bet on the screwball

You might win.