Suburban chores materialize depression.
Do them;
grown-ups do.
Towering snow banks intimidate today.
Selfish preservation wants the sun to work,
but others would think me lost.
I am lost; I am hiding,
but please don’t think me lost.
I will survive all of you people.
I have my contrivances.
I find garden gloves with summer soil,
grab my tiny music power box, ear buds on.
I will not crash.
YEEEEAAAOWW, The Prodigy –
I’ve got the poison, and
the remedy is The Prodigy.
YEEEEAAAOWW, making
Howard Dean seem like
the Queen of England.
I scream gigantically, and all is fine.
Neighbors are bottled against the cold.
Out of tune, big huge in spirit.
In summer, they called the hospital.
I was dancing with the lawn mower
in my baggy shorts, black socks
and tennis shoes from a nuclear winter.
They heard me screaming in joy.
I am embarrassing to all who love me,
but oh, if they let me out,
how I dance and survive,
how I survive the insanity
that hides in crevices,
wants me all gone,
makes me SICK,
wants me hanging from my Oak tree.
dancing with my bright red shovel,
my spirit is juiced, jacked
snow washing away, running away,
moving so good, so roundly nutty.
At the sight of our primitive dance,
the neighbor in Humvee,
mouth wide, astonished,
she wants to export me.
“You’re no good for me.”
I dance, The Prodigy sings loudly,
I hear all women I have known
singing this with the horn of a Honda,
a persistent beeping horn
for cracking brains open.
If you don’t like The Prodigy,
you will never tolerate my darkness;
you will see me as scrap for dogs;
you will work to obliterate my spirit.
“I got the poison, I got the remedy.”
If you take my Prodigy, the Oak tree
will master and destroy my good plans.
Is it true that only the insane,
only the forsaken love,
only they need The Prodigy?
stillfugue 
#1 by heather grace stewart on February 2, 2011 - 6:29 pm
I would never do anything to stifle this spirit of yours, Carl.
You are completely awesome, as was this poem!
#2 by Carl on February 2, 2011 - 8:01 pm
Oh, you are so kind, Heather! I am lucky you came by to read, and your comment means the world!!!
#3 by Evelyn on February 2, 2011 - 8:11 pm
Tremendous…
more of your poetry that feels like music…
#4 by Carl on February 2, 2011 - 8:39 pm
Yes! thank you! Can you tell I left my editor in the closet. Not sure when he will show again, but we’re working on it.
#5 by Sirenum Scopuli on February 2, 2011 - 9:35 pm
Seems to me your neighbors need to listen to The Prodigy with you. Next time, load up your truck’s CD player, turn it up loud and open the doors. You might get your neighbors out dancing too! I turn my music way up in my minivan and roll down the windows when I’m unloading groceries or cleaning up the garden. And I sing really, really loud. Nobody’s complained yet…although it could be that someone needs to take me to the hospital. I hear they have good chicken pot pie!
#6 by Carl on February 2, 2011 - 10:35 pm
Perhaps your neighbors are fearful of you, depending on how you hold the pitch fork. 🙂
be careful with the chicken pot pie. I am sure they poison the carrots because everyone eats the carrots part. My roommate didn’t make it last time – The food was so bad, he got sane. However, you cannot say anything bad about the help.
#7 by Lisa on February 3, 2011 - 1:50 am
I totally LOVE the idea of dancing with a red shovel.
YAY – thanks for sharing
😀
#8 by Carl on February 3, 2011 - 6:30 am
Thank you for commenting, Lisa! It’s very kind of you.
#9 by Raven on February 3, 2011 - 8:54 am
On the way home I sing and dance in my car. I’m always the only one. I look around at sullen faces and jaws that tighten reflexively over grinding teeth and wonder what the fuck is wrong with them.
#10 by Carl on February 3, 2011 - 10:33 pm
Well, we can guess what’s wrong with them, but it is too bad. Sullen and angry indeed. I want to commute with you!!! 🙂