Snippets from VASECTOMAJESTIC

// [18 October 2024]

How about this.
I caught this morning morning’s
cotton candy sky, a floss-spun fog
to boot. So when I tell you
I don’t want any hint
of bitterness I mean it. I mean
I gotta watch for the grumps,
the glooms, since resentment
gets me nothing and gives me less.
But even then
I took my coffee with cream
and sugar, a rare and sickly
sweet treat, so naturally
I come around
to thinking of pineapples
and that old
piece of advice, a real head-
canon, hazarded
with a knowing wink: to ward
off bitterness and turn toward
the way of sugar, to give in
to that craving above all
else, or else, to heal
my nettle-stung nethers months
after, to cure my honey-
tinged poison tongue and earn
back a touch, your touch, of
all your going graces, I mean, come on.
How else would I want it, less bitterness,
less backpay, just you, this, more.
My drive sharpens as the mini-van
drives straight down the stretch
between Cleveland and Jefferson:
you can piece it together, triangulate
my position, and even
now you’re at therapy for my mess
and my session
is coming in about
an hour’s time but
you know how I focus
with endgame precision
on the moment and what’s
here because I have to, and I’m grateful,
really, drizzled in caramel, flammable
still post-offering, sacrifice,
so this is
my fragrance at its innermost, this head-
space a fitting sanctum and most
of all the best gift, this present, this,
right here, the cloying, lip-
smacking transience.