I can see you’re kinky,
just like my spine.
Let’s go to Costco,
split a box of red wine.
Overdose on samples,
get all twisted, swing from Red Vines.
Wake up in store jail,
or just a prison of our minds.
Don’t think you’re divine
Just cuz I’m down on my knees,
Scrounging for self respect,
but I’d settle for my keys.
Wandering this country
that warps in front of me.
Land of opportunity?
No, it’s a Spirit Halloween
But it’s good, it’s fine
I could use the disguise.
Can the makeup, the greasepaint,
check the bags under my eyes?
Stick with me, and you’ll see
How much this store credit buys.
A card swipe misdirection
from all my doubts, that galvanize.
My self-marketing campaign finds new ways,
to terrorize.
It’s funny how deftly anxiety,
can improvise.
An untapped brilliance whose only skill,
to agonize.
The smallest missteps in my head,
all pressurized.
Good thing all the distractions in this land,
are super-sized.
A big gulp full of booze, caffeine,
and Yellow #5.
Let’s see how many feelings,
these chemicals
sanitize.
It works as advertised,
My attention starts to scatter
I refresh my Like count
to see how much I matter,
50 tabs all loaded,
A perfect sampler platter
of gambling, puppies, porno,
politics and random chatter.
There’s a million ways to kill it
a million ways to drown
rabbit holes all multiply
but they can’t turn the volume down.
I’m searching for that spark
that won’t burn me to the ground.
Self-apology’s within me
but I can’t let it make a sound
I’m still gasping for the safe word
To make this inner voice subside.
There’s an endless stream of answers
Yet they never quite apply,
With my hollowed-out avoidance
fear, feeds back, all amplified.
I grab the mic, get on stage
because there’s no place to hide
but, my bulletproof sarcasm
won’t let anything inside.
I brought my own projection
I’ll flip this spotlight on its side…
Wait I thought I was near the orchestra,
but I find myself, ringside
The bell rings with authenticity
But my gloves, they’re counterfeit
While I came here seeking peace
My hands swing like hypocrites
Backed into a corner
Mouth full of bleeding words, I spit
I’m running out of options
fighting truths I won’t admit.
Defenses are all failing,
excuses, no longer fit.
There’s only one move left,
Just drop my gloves,
and let it hit.
– Tarzan of the Grapes © Mike Chernoff 03/13/2023
From the collection Steer into the Skid
Chernoff Writing.com 