Trying to overcome an existential crisis
Harking back to those foundational years
Emerging out of my own wounded shadow
Striving headlong into those ancient fears
Transitionally limping along these days
But my injuries aren’t those to be seen
Nor the stretch marks upon my soul
Yearning for the notion of becoming clean
Throughout it all, forever fond of the Blonde
Woman, hold me close to your breast
Tell me this life is going to be all right
That together, entangled; we’ll always be blessed
Stretching up & yawning
A lazy morning not to compete
My mind has been overloaded
Time for those files to delete
Our souls are priceless
So why do we always sell, sell, sell
This morning I’m choosing to dwell within
& the secrets I find I’ll never tell
The gentle fog of last night’s revelry
Walking the streets before the sun
Overcorrecting the crooked events
Getting myself right before the day’s begun
Dreamscapes fading in these early hours
Scars to tell tales of an alternate narrative
Truth impedes the recital of our union
Clinging to our bodies not always so imperative
Setting the scene amidst several libations
Resulting in sloppy notes from the underground
These aren’t mundane epitaphs from stone
Rather just trinkets for creation to remain unbound
They don’t have men
Down at the newspaper anymore
Dusty ages disagree
They’ve forever closed the door
They’re hiding the truth
In the time of an information superhighway
Where they locked away Dignity
They’re not telling, they won’t say
We’re on our own out here alone
You think we’re lost & have much to fear
Stranded under this desert sky
Be still thy soul, for I was born out here
Smelling like an old man
But a man nonetheless
Reapplying the Old Spice
Sovereignty against the stress
Too many fragrant like chicks
No way for a dude to smell
Are you confused by nature
For I surely cannot tell
Watching you from a distance
Your nylons making me squirm
Trying to find the right position
Pants uncomfortable when I’m firm
I can’t look away from you
Don’t tell me to be more mature
My mind starts wandering
& you’re my favorite provocateur
Pouring a tall wine in the fine crystal
The fancy stuff from our Wedding day
Leaving behind clothing as we speak
Your look disregards anything I have to say
My eyes are up here, my beautiful Bride
Please focus on my charm & wit
I can tell you only desire one thing
But first lady, you’re going to have to submit
I’m not a perfect dream
But I’m not a perfect mess
I’m somewhere in between
But I’m probably a little less
I’m out here trying my best
Usually in darkness before the day
I find at times I just need a hug
& for her to tell me I’ll be okay
You stand there aghast
I smile with arched eyebrows
What’s the matter, Lady
But all you can say is “wow”
Letting the thought marinate
You begin your quiet pleas
My smile just widens
I can tell you’re weak in the knees
I’m spilling my martini
Like a drunken lout
Don’t judge me, lady
Know not what I’m about
Merely seeing my words
You only know what I tell
I’ve never revealed scars
Or invited you to my hell

Please tell me a story
Give me a reason to smile
Distract me from this distress
& forget these damn trials
One day, these will be a memory
A nightmare of us being apart
But until that blissful moment
I’d love something from the heart
She’s out there again
Dancing in the moonlight
It’s easy to tell
Things just aren’t right
It got to be too much
Life went too far
She doesn’t say much anymore
Every night she wanders under the stars
Don’t tell them the bad things
For they’ll never understand
Unfair portraits of emotion
Feeling adrift & wholly damned
Hopelessness internalized
It is a matter for us to resolve
Into the trenches to survive
With only love to absolve
Don’t tell me how’s its gonna be
When you’ve never been
I’ve seen the angry sea
You’re not among the salty men
Don’t act like you have a clue
Clinging to the dirt
You’ve never seen a color that blue
Never felt your soul cringe & hurt
You’re looking for easy praise
Don’t want to be a weathered cog
Riding waves on endless days
You’re still crisp; a mere pollywog
Image by David Mark from Pixabay
“All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.”
― James Baldwin
Captain Q 