THE CURSE

In the morning what’s a good time worth

I can’t remember; I cannot say

Whatever rises from the salted earth

Can’t reason with it - and it won’t go away

Is it the roses that she sent you?

Choose your own adventure

Running off of fumes most of the day

You and your mama had a thing for the drummer

- this trauma born of pleasure

We can work through it together

And the first cut, as they say, will be the worst

When the words fill up until they burst

Could be The Curse

An aid to contemplation I don’t know

Can’t seem to settle, it’s all to cock

And the World-Snake chokes upon its tail

I’m through the portal and it’s only 12 o’clock

Every little thing you mention

In all of their declensions -

Tuning out the static as you can

Quetzalcoatl made the windows rattle

The lizard brain that this is

Wants to do its dirty business

When you find your Hero’s Journey is in reverse

When it all gets polymorphously perverse

Could be The Curse

No absolution

Just a hue and cry

Deploy the tear gas

Release the hounds

There’s no protection from the Evil Eye

Would take a miracle to turn this thing around

Every little malediction

Comes with a cool affliction

All the grief that drove you to the fern

I’m a thing that moves on predestinated grooves

And all the shit I’m doing - it will end in rule or ruin

And the first cut, as they say, will be the worst

When the words fill up until they burst

Could be The Curse…

Strait the gate and narrow is the way and black as night from pole to pole

Proud and loud and bloody and unbowed and I’m the captain of my soul