NO KEY NO SKY
I could not sleep with the rain hammering
my roof into cosmic submission.
I first thought that there was an instrument of distraction
or maybe more of an instrument of destruction
taking control of the current cellular programming.
The pure pleasure that I take from informative reading
as well as the writing done with a childlike intensity
were tossed into a bin of intellectually poisonous debris.
As a child in cranky Covina, I had a passion for imaginary things.
My inner life flourished behind the garage
and definitely below what God demanded.
I had an uneasy strategy that would take me around the block.
It became all a landscape of exaggeration.
No one was going to out accumulate frustration
when I was around taking aspirations to be no more than baby teeth.
A former coworker hit me up for some quality time in her garden.
There was a prospect that the high-wire act of perfection
would lead me toward her escape hatch of emotional hunger.
I really did not want to ponder the unthinkable on a burrowing afternoon,
but there must be some sort of uplift that comes
with the nurturing of a scrambling suburban imagination.
Bottom line has to be that there will be less bleak Kafkaesque expression
under my breath as I mold a sturdy metaphysical key
in order to unlock a fresh series of aphorisms within a seemingly posthumous sky.
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