Daddy

You came too soon, you came too soon.
On the back of a junk, too many of you.
Slavery in the folds of a dirt bag,
Masters of donkeys, opium and poo
Douche-bags, all of you.

And when the tide came in, you grew
Became a gavel, a Confucian tool
With your rear end playing peak-a-boo
Now I’m his disciple too
You were here before me,

Were you? I read you like a history book
Three whips to a page, that makes
Good flagellation a sport. Like those
Marathons and marathons and marathons.
Over kill, maybe it will too.

Will it too. Run me to the death
As longs it pleases you.
Gas-tank, slung over. Smoke me like
Pot, with a huff and a puff and achoo
I’ll do what you cannot do

Jump through these smoke rings, whoo
Trapeze on your words, somersault too,
A leg lift, fold over, and then the fall
A Cirque Du Soleil doll
I’m your darling, ring master

Ring me thrall. The scars are
your love, some trophy to polish,
Minutes of minutes of you,
It’s a scorecard, and guess what daddy?
I’ll place my bets on you

Always the financial mogul
With your stocks and your shares and
Everyday blues. I remember mummy
Sprawled like a starfish, teething a smile
Like some goody-two-shoes

Mummy’s a mule
Plodding on with a leaking vat of you
It gets lighter and lighter,
Her back straightens and straightens
While I lick the drips on her shoe.

But Daddy I grew and I grew,
My foot grew too big in your shoe
My age now starts with a two
With a zero behind, with a zero behind
I zeroed my memory of you.

Daddy you better love me too
Love my hand and my feet and my heel
Daddy daddy roll the wheel
The fleece on your head shows through
Daddy daddy daddy, I’ll make three bags full.

On learning your grades

Thistle funnel breath
A cellular anorexia,
Squelched like Boa-meat
Air betrays its own nature
To boast rotund.
And then the smooth slide
Or gallop, into the gut.

Pelunk.
Stirred like hot mash
Witches cauldron gurgling
Day old leftovers, hot air
Propelling bumper-car romance
With intestinal fervency
Appendages clasp accidents
Rolling them into balls.
Salivate. Mothball smells from
Baby socks. These don’t come
Off easily.

Singles pining for a
Similar constriction.
Sudden rising of bile plume.
Expanding air to invade every
Fleshy Hiroshima. Then the
Release. Snake skin
Peeling back for freedom
All shapes evaporate
To muster

This gush, this suffocation
This edifying upward drift
Of my bell-jar asphyxiation.

Shut up and Sit Down

How many times -
Did we crumble under the divinity
of a wagging finger crossed
twice, as if creation got found out and
now sheepishly sought,
the forgiving (and forgiven) innocence
of a schoolboy’s childish folly.

How many times –
Did we smile as he hid behind skirts
and issues, attributing this bashfulness
to a virginal pathos, one that we in
Reason’s gloomy subterfuge
should cradle as first bud in spring or
last dash of snow. So he is
nursed, o infant joy, blessed
by our cowardice to compound
Eternity in never-land.

How many times –
Did the rod of invention strike foul to spare
this Happy child? No love runs
Thick as his tears, no music sings
Sweet as his tantrums. To his moods
we cling, bouldering the precipice
though blisters fester
And primordial veins, traitors to their inheritance,
scream sermons pleading
That we let go.

How many more times -
Will we turn the other cheek, so old wounds
don’t bruise? Like ostriches we place
our heads in holes, not, to escape
Death, but to silence out
the screeching decibel of fear.
What have we nursed in this rock-a-bye
but a dormant wind, now gentle in its caress,
but when next it blows,
upturns the cradle?