always a work in progress

The rituals for everyday come.

This is a scrub and a polish alert

at the same time.

All the surface stuff gets attention

in a wipe-away fashion

but the deeper scars remain untouched.

These are duty bound usher tasks

of our natural caverns

for the wind tunnel testing of daily life

but scaled down

so as to go unnoticed.

People come by with hands and eyes

as little dynamites of inspection and cheer.

But when I check the soul bar codes,

they are mislabeled, wrong aisles.

Gees, just for fun,

can I have a price check!

This P.A. hasn’t really worked in years.

It’s also a non-topic so to speak.

Anyway, I like working the night shift,

all daylong.

My comportment is a little off

but people take me to be

just idiosyncratic by nature.

I kind of like the silence

even though I use it

as a negation of self.

When I long for contact and communion,

it seems like

I have a communication disability.

I suffer from bluntism,

in a world of euphemisms.

It has something to do with lip shaping

but it starts from deep inside.

It feels like

a self-ventriloquism form

of denial amnesia.

Maybe it’s only a fourth dimensional form

of autism.

Anyway, like I said.

I come across as a smack down

as conversation goes,

a disproportionate amount

of obtuse punch lines

and not enough of

“why did, the chicken cross the road”.

I thought about inventing

a font for blunt

but easily got distracted

with the potential for mood graphics.

So I switched to contemplating

the punctuation for blunt.

Everything from parenthesis to underscore.

In principle, it seems less political on its own,

like the punctuation was just there to serve

and not to piggyback

an additional statement of its own!

This is, this struggle with blutism,

I guess.

Always a work in progress . . .