SUGAR-COATED SAWDUST

sugar-coated saw-dust

for those with no taste,

whatsoever.

and lost most of their 

teeth in last revolution.

concrete for dessert.

belly-up to the bar;

we'll wash it all down

with rot-gut booze

and reminisce over old lovers.

before post-traumatic stress,

was just plain old crazy;

lock 'em up; be done with 'em.

then wiser minds prevailed:

with some frontal-lobe tweaking,

much rest and recreation,

back on road to better times;

back to normal living.

at least as normal as possible

with post-traumatic stress issues. 

those of us, never having been there,

will never know. 

sleep with eyes wide open;

peripheral vision sees all.

trust: a speechless entity,

seeking poetic notions.

splash of light in darkest

of nights; no surrender.

brawn and brains; dance partners.

one does not negotiate with shadows.

resign one's self to the inevitable.

inevitable is everywhere,

and excepts only cash.

and hates poetic notions with a passion. 

February 17th, same old, same old:

cold, snow, wind, 6 heartwarming degrees!

have a strong urge to now the lawn!

nature is suffering. 

feed the birds, rabbits,

feed something while you're

sitting comfy in your houses,

while wildlife is suffering so.

and now this:

postmortem poetry

for those with poetry

coming out their nose,

their ears, and certain

places not to be mentioned

here or there for obvious

reason left for our imaginations

to play and deal with.