Penultimate

1/30  
   
Penultimate    
   
this is my penultimate day  
my next-to-last  
and this poem is wriggling  
into existence  
one index finger stab  
at a time  
   
the mule  
aka mobility scooter    
this iron beast of burden  
is now rouged fire-engine red  
with fully charged battery    
   
soon to be loaded    
all bulging  
like a fat sausage  
left in the microwave    
too long  
   
my life stuffed  
in a sack of camo-skin  
strapped in with bungee  
   
 a waikiki traveling show  
complete w/ 80 yrs Jung  
hunter-gatherer  
weaving thru hordes  
   
of the are-we-there-yet  
crowd  
   
hammock, cook stove/cookset  
50 degree sleeping bag  
laptop phone poetry books  
photographs changes of clothing    
meds breathing machine nebulizer  
   
and more as the archetropes    
of dysfunction grade reality  
on the curve  
   
   
lego-blocks of delusion  
coming together to screech out  
hymns of wtf on this  
my penultimate day    
   
here in indiana    
where everything  
unravels    
(some disassembly required)  
   
relationships hit-and-run  
down/run over  
by krishna's juggernaut    
   
what ya gonna do, eh  
   
we fly at 5 am  
day after tomorrow    
leaving seven years    
strewn behind like a ship  
lightening its load  
   
so much now depends on  
my fire‐engine red  
beast of burden    
my iron mule  
   
beside the old man  
waiting for tomorrow's rain  
no white chickens being  
available to complete    
the allusion  
   
but why go allusion    
when delusion will do  
when the great god kaos  
is the algorithmic go-to