awash with intermittent amnesia.

Scant number of minutes elapsed...
before I forgot whether yours truly
took another dose of glycopyrrolate
ingested as a palliative prescription
medication addressing the issue of
palmar hyperhidrosis -- excessive
perspiration of palms of hands, an
unpleasant physiological symptoms
afflicting me more than three fourths
of my threescore and six years or
more specifically sixty six orbits
alive to the sound of music
debilitating, hobbling, loosing
a torrent of water dripping
(think Murchison Falls -

The parking lots round Buster’s little piece
of life see cars of every kind, whose horns
and antitheft devices batter drums
inside his ears. He grabs his sticks and runs
out of the door and rides his bike to work,
where his instruments are set up in the hall.

To get there isn’t too much of a haul.
The orchestra begins to tune. The piece
they’ll play is Mahler’s Ninth. The maestro works
on balance in the trombones and the horns,
then has the violins zip through a run,
while Buster waits by cymbals, bells, and drums.

Vultures swooped overhead
and preyed on my vulnerabilities
forcing me to carrion camping
as fine young cannibals
sharpened their knives
and licked their lips
while eyeing me as their naked lunch
bound and gagged
as a huge cauldron bubbled
awaiting yours truly as human sacrifice
preparatory to be boiled alive
shorn of clothes
embarrassingly in the buff
with me pot bellied gut
and spindleshanks for legs
presenting a poor excuse
and laughing stock of Homo sapiens
lowering my head in resignation
as a die hard atheist

When thoughts skim trees,
one can speculate and fret,
maybe fascinated process,
fascinated and elated then,
a parody of scribbling notes,
indulging wistful wry whim,
was it the majestic scene,
the poet strives to portray,
panic sparked by schedule,
schedule that bold set term,
knowing that stern void,
can be wrongly misshapen, 
temple wrinkling brouhaha,
am I that swift hunch verse,
who may fritter sunbursts,
whilst coinage of  opal ode,
sodden  piece  dull dodge ,
sudden piece grey vanish,

I showed up at my new school 
kilt down to my knees 
made decisions beforehand 
Each person a friend to seize
my old friends would understand 

But then I walked through the door 
past the sea of blonde 
the sea of jewlery 
and i found myself searching for ingenuity

and then I saw Marcie 
          3 bags strung over her shoulders 
a cello on her back

laughing like a butterfly flapping its wings 
with the easiness that only doing nothing could bring

One can be targeted by past life bullies,
continuous cathartic resonance of black bashful veil,
imposing the darkest recess and its tangled tantrums amassed,
phases exist without problematic manifest intrusion illusory but for a while,