deepundergroundpoetry.com
Into Where Happiness Just Won't End
Is this face smiling
some potion of
endorphins and gray matter
peanut butter and jellying me
onto two slices of Time,
one slice for the future’s pie hole,
the other for the past’s,
both connected by some shared colon
sphinctering me out
into a practically unbearable present?
I’m sure the secret to understanding
what it means to be happy
must lie underneath some taboo door,
hiding in the stink our backsides
each time we turn the clouds around
to complain about them,
and that’s about as close
to being happy as I’ve been able
to come,
brief moments inside which
I find myself snout to snout
with an irrefutable musk of being,
me, sniffing at the dark I am
as if I were a skunk cabbage I could delight in
and be thankful for.
An armpit sniffing skunk cabbage
growing alongside
our beloved lily of the valley,
into where happiness just won’t end,
and where I,
standing with my lord of the flies on,
straddle over the constant trickling of happiness,
with my own sadness-loving head,
still oinking at the end of my big, steaming stick,
for a face.
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