On the shore of the swamp

A POEM

Tempted to answer the phone.

Glimpses through glass table tops

the pink poking out

toes of not your lovers

undercover show boat dream tent.

Blast it, your bubbling lustful undercurrents

flushing your cheeks 

ever so slightly.

“Is everything ok?” they ask

“Fine” you reply, “ I just got a little hot flash all of a sudden”.

They smile and you know the cat is outta the bag.

But so what.

It’s not like your a catholic nun…

But wait a minute.

Upon deeper reflection you realize…

I have a catholic nun living within me,

it’s the absolute bloody truth

and there’s only one thing you can do about it.

You name her Sylvia, give her a shimmering

red dinner gown and invite her to the party.

You answer the phone

HAIL THOU Chief

Sterling silver bills

in your eyes and the 

weight of a hundred cannon balls

in your chest.

The prerequisite to life 

on this planet 

you finally realize

is an aptitude for service,

for liberating debilitating thought structures

from a perfectly functioning 

fountain of constantly flowing

cosmic love nectar.

In other words,

Thou shalt remember

the face of thine divine 

mother and father,

returning to the point of

immaculate conception in every moment.

AHO!

You are a profound and prolific

point of light with options.

Here I am

freshly risen from the swamps depths,

muck sliding down the shining white surface

of my freshly born skin

a frog shaped, softball sized concrete chunk

in my right hand.

I stand

ready to hurl it into the glass skyscrapers

of life as they’d have me believe it

to exist.

Instead, I turn to the heavy frog

and realize how cute it is,

I kiss it and we have a picnic

on the shore of the swamp.

you hang up the phone.