Randomized Breakfast

It’s hardly news that evil-doers in films are often deformed and disabled characters. The Bond franchise alone is flooded with crippled meanies: Dr. No’s hand, Blofeld in his power wheelchair, etc.

Frankly I’ve always wanted to be an evil disabled chemist. I want to turn wine back into water at the Country Club or put truth serum in Preparation H.

**

Well poets don’t tell the truth much, too busy bathing the peacocks
Walking lonesome in the harbor, Helsinki, spices in the air—
First time I was productively isolate, singing softly
Up river or down the road, all my friends lived far away.
When I think on it now I’m still twenty three among the Baltic gulls
Humming “My Funny Valentine.”
Wind from Estonia blowing darkness against my cheek…
Looking warily at strangers, thinking:
Imagine well of me, oh, and glance just so
To Say everything will be OK…
I wasn’t yet patient or experienced, but could tell it so…

**

But I Can’t

Blindness says nothing but I told you so,
It only knows the price you have to pay.
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If I could tell you I would let you know.

**

Don’t moan!
Just pull your hair

**

Who appointed you? Nah. Forget Spinoza. I mean “who” besides your mother told you your thoughts are worth a damn?

“Well, when I was a boy the postman said I was smart.”

**

Happiness crawls in and out of me like that childhood song about the worms…

**

How beautiful to see we are still funny. Five friends and no one is selling anything. Though one of us who has lost a lot of weight lifts up his shirt and I say if he keeps this kind of display up, a piano will fall on him. The dog walks into the room with her dish clutched in her teeth. A five point buck looks in the window. Any moment now, Dr. Doolittle will drop by for coffee. We are just laughing animals. Save the human textbook for tomorrow.

**

Carl Jung thought the plants were talking to us. I’m with him.

**

I want you to understand me. I come from one or two regions beyond the blurry pasture. The dark pines are engraved with the bold eyes of my sleep. Here I am, new to this day. What should I do?

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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