A Category Two Blue Tango

 

Awake, godamn, Wake up!

another day another one-day-at-time another
        one slow foot after the other.
Little room          still here still       cut-to-fit dry-wall.

Place is a mess. Maids all quit back before I can
         Recall being born at all.
                               Place a mess, but yes,
                                                Tis a cozy type of mess.
The type'o cozy mess that reminds that "the world" is not
                                           'your oyster' or anyOther
                                  jack'ass catch'phrase that
                       that stinks of triteness,
              and smells of rotten jelly.
(A cozy place          never       the      less    never the    LESS )

And after 67 years of model citizenry, out'law, crim'nal, legal troubles.
Thrown into an isolation accommodation, stripped naked amidst
age olde grime, for a bit'o humiliation and "shame shame shame.
                                 Every Body Knows Your Name"
                        (where none can give a rat to (a) rat's ass)

                                All this, and more live-long shit,
                                to all'em critters what shits gold
                                out they shit'hole, separating the
                                 poop from their golden personas.

Another day.  Another one-day-at-a-time. This time. This
time we'll make it 'just Now', at it's propulsive best, whether Man or
                                    anti-Man matters enough
                                          to drive us home
                                          to love and safety.

Still the air in this conditioned room gets heavy after
           a few breaths.  
                                Heavy breathing for heavy breath
                                                               for all our hackneed
                                                                             'heavy thoughts'
It must be the Heart Fail'er doing it's suffocating ,
Chronic Heart Failure, Chronic Congestive Heart Failure,
 that became'my style'. (Heart and Failure be keywords to my riddle).

          'they' had to burn,        (anyone for heartburn?),
burn dead a wee little bites & bits of heart tissue crazy nerves
(just enough to make one wherr to take notice).
 Keeping the body-ball a'rollin' down'downhill to a new life
                          of no (appreciable) value.

               We can, indeed, talk to the dead all we want,
                      Rest assured, there'll be no contention
                                    to ruin your day.

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2019dkzkpoompixtrs,etc.All in a daze work. 2019