Feet First

by Jimmy Tee

the depths of night has become my enemy
with soul in need of rest
the ghosts and ghouls invade my nest
in full blown anarchy

all this despite the lack of calamity
but conscience sleep checks out
to be replaced with nagging doubt
in a dark reality

try as I might to shake uncertainty
I suffer at this point
that some nature chose to anoint
with vulnerability

soon comes the light and I stand vertically
but in my near woke realm
these questions steer every helm:
what has occurred? what shall be?



Why are we weigh’d upon with heaviness,

And utterly consumed with sharp distress,

While all things else have rest from weariness?

All things have rest: why should we toil alone,

We only toil, who are the first of things,

And make perpetual moan,

Still from one sorrow to another thrown:

Nor ever fold our wings,

And cease from wanderings,

Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm;

Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,

“There is no joy but calm!”

Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?

Alfred Lord Tennyson

‘’The Lotus Eaters”

spur of the moment

I mean by a picture a beautiful, romantic dream of something that never was, never will be – in a light better than any light that ever shone – in a land no one can define or remember, only desire – and the forms divinely beautiful – and then I wake up, with the waking of Brynhild

Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones

Kick Spinoza Right in the Ass

I brave the pace
of afternoon grace
and sermons never ending

as one of the crowd
that wonders aloud
while death is always pending

its all so weary
dank and dreary
the rules are broken or bending

a silent God
whose game seems odd
just what is He intending ?

everything I find
is mis-defined
in a deal not worth defending

can someone explain
this world of pain
if to heaven we are ascending ?

But I’m a Spirit, God Dammit

wounds heal scars appear
corpuscles come and go
rods and cones
glossy bones
I sit watch my nails grow

digestion happens
how is that? I dunno
brain grey matter
to heartbeat patter
keeps my life in tow

my nerves are knotted
kidneys filter the flow
from hollow veins
to nasty pains
its all very corporal

life is momentum
born 65 years ago
every day I eat
every morning excrete
I breathe in the status quo

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah


Ladies and Gentlemen, 2018

it is easier to believe the worst
than it is to believe the best

the roaring branch
bouncing off the walls with Johnny Mac
the how factor behind art

nodding to ‘stairway to heaven’
criticisms confined
to margins mis-defined

I have a sneaking suspicion
that in the matter of truths
any and all will do, and always has

fear eats hope for lunch
spectacle continues its rule
book covers sell, ask anyone