Falling All Over
It was my stuck in a barrel over the falls top hat.
It was my rum running toward Treasure Island argh matey hat.
I was set up for the obit of all obits with my back to an Egyptian wall.
Someone had to play the escaped felon with a target on his chest.
There was no mother of all scumbags at the airport ready to save the day.
I got shanked by the cosmos when I wasn’t looking.
Poor me, but I should have known that the deathtrap was built by friends.
I could have made a killing by opening a bookshop for party girls.
I always wanted to be a wonder boy, but I was derailed by eighth grade.
Mom donated pancakes to all the saints who came to town.
It was my job to scrub the birdbath before the tuxedo cat came down from the roof.
It had been a sticky summer with refracted images doing double duty.
I watched as gigantic seasonal puzzles got stuck in proverbial sandbanks.
The sun was seemingly sold to a multi-national conglomerate.
Dislodged family memories flood close to the chin.
No one ducks fast enough when it comes to the squeeze of family.
I took a chance on a cloudless transfiguration to remedy the season.
I went back to the copper protection of a tectonic hat.
From furnace to frying pan, capitalism rode violence all the way to the top.
My equilibrium lost all of its social value as I labored for one last spiritual fall.
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