THE CATASTROPHE OF SWEETNESS
It all seemed so unspectacular on first glance.
What is a poet to do with a myriad of repressed fantasies?
As usual, rational thought went up in a blaze of incongruity.
Standing in a small dark space, I worked on my cheetah skills.
It dawned on me that there is no good reason for me to show
my possibly winning hand or any particular auditory slipups.
I got the feeling that something really powerful was messing
with my codes, with my sense of worth, with my soul.
This situation can bring on the most annoying bitterness,
can bring on a loss of balance, a loss of true governance.
The hallway was jam-packed with froufrou expressions
to twist in a Hammurabi moment into a ponderous fringe continent.
I strapped on a metal detector that has proven to find
all the sensory exotica that I can handle.
Maybe it comes down to the motion in the ocean,
I find the sparks are flying off the burning skillet of family phenomenology.
Coming around the corner on the dark side of my eyelids,
I frame a ritual ceremony in order to not surrender
to the elephant in the room that is the catastrophe of sweetness.
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