stages of realization…
Yeah, I’m jealous as hell of those young bodies
strewing words and energy like no tomorrow need apply,
with passion sound and fury signifying
something I think I still have though
I wish I knew I had it
when it was still in plain view.
I remember thinking I was free
when I didn’t have a clue
of what was stewing deep within
Hell’s kitchen in my soul.
Angst was wordless liquid eulogy
I poured into whatever cause or role
I came across, if somehow it felt true.
I guess that’s how I got here,
the latest stop on my scavenger hunt
of what the buzzard saw. Truth
is I’m not dead yet. If Mr. Bird forgets
I’ll beat my soul song rhythm out
on his tattoos, with his own drumsticks.
Mmmm. Finger licking good.
So I stand here in the glory of
my adipose armor, though
what love’s got to do with wit
is everything. Hell, that’s the only reason
we’re alive at all. Ask how we got unbalanced
on the brink of self destruction,
but don’t leave out this question:
How come we haven’t fallen yet?
I don’t know either…
anesthetized too long,
yet I’ve recovered enough to know
the question on which abused Tina turns
spins our salvation whether we like Ike or not.
It is something to do with love and fury
holding back blows, feeding neighbors,
protecting children, strewing
words and energy like no tomorrow,
picking up the strength and faith
to build one.
~ Wry Welwood,
late 20th century,
re-edited May 2021
Performed at the Can Tab lounge in Cambridge, MA.