3 Poems
By Theodore Wallbanger
whiskey whiskey
whiskey whiskey rescue me,
without thee, there is no glee
they cannot, will not silence me
the leprechauns who
shroud themselves with indignant heinous secrecy
a deviant class I abstain from now
where once a commandment I did plow
I hereby vanquish
salacious sips of my
weekly honey trips
those yearn burn passions of yesteryear
when Jameson highballs revoked all fear
creamy days now erased
redacting freedom zones of space
excursions where I lingered for
perky peaks offering a perceived score
in the world of wonderful lipsticked swinger lore
reversal of fortune was quite swift
enforcing judge’s ruling with stern whip
but I succumbed without contention
there was no time for intervention
mindless hours of banal chores
now fill my darkened days of bore
a militaristic resentful bitch frown
who controls each exhaled breath I breathe
while waving victory fingers fearlessly
marriage covers up my sin
as hope remains in one heart,
there is still a prayer
when wifey dear
tries out for
her earned part in heaven
I shadow ship my soul at night,
four stink-stain slippers
suppressed by moonlight which
sneaks in through a curtain seam
striking one king bed near broken dreams
we burn our days to celebrate
mundane wins that correlate
with years of love or death for some
detox orders would unleash my
rampage wild inner beast
withdrawal from lands of bikini happy
allow my wife to pop pills now
on days when she feels crappy
my imploded life is far from healed as I’m
fed lectures for fun with meals
my mind writes riddles
or else I dribble so on repeat I slay this beat
whiskey whiskey rescue me,
without thee, there is no glee
without whiskey, there is no WEE!
the days of thunder are gone for me
I would swallow a shotgun in a flash
but a locksmith I fear would be trespassed
another helping of smelt dingleberries
extra school under the guise of religious education
was spoon fed to me in the form of CCD
during elementary controlled enrichment kid days
Confraternity of Christian Doctrine
held the con in its name
Catholicism blessing squads met with
my parental vessels following a
Halloween parade debacle outfitting me in
a tasty red devil ensemble complete with
a sinister black plastic pitchfork
Mother Vessel deemed her seamstress skills as legendary
while the school board tagged me as
an agitator of demonic symbolism with potential
yearning for satanic ideology
the neighborhood became the acidic stepchild
requiring emergency religious intervention
as bible toting magic riders of the night
flash banged into diabolical eradicating embers
stabilizing adjacent our local Hometown Buffet
cleansings were frequent with
sentencing in makeshift holy classrooms
dependent on infraction related offenses
poor costume design was the lesser of accepted evils
almost shock rock schooling my frown pants
into four years of unfamiliar gospel rituals
which were intended to purify me from
briar patch demon lairs I was being
tempted into by the shadow lords
between the continuous juggle diet expressing itself
in the abstract form of fairy tales with
a cast of characters including but not limited to:
Aesop’s Fables, Santa Claus, The Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny,
The Ominous Devil, and now
aggressive religious tasers were lighting up personal pimple towns
I choose excavation into another tunnel pop land less traveled
By launching a power move on
the first day of serving my CCD sentence,
I slipped past the rectory, off into the manicured grounds of the church
my sneaky self had obtained janitorial connections
based on alliances my blood Father Vessel
had procured with his comic book membership to
a tiny clan of infidels stickering themselves as
The Street Sweepers of America
Maclavio held the keys to portal escapes for
all Roman Catholic exits while Sawbreena,
from the swampier regions of Katmandu,
controlled melting pot dispatch rides away from
leftover religions or deities using incense or bells
dreams were tools so I opted detonation of my freedom toolbox
across a carpeted confessional closet taped off with
construction props Maclavio had positioned for me hours before
by redirecting boiler box energies into belief of my own imagination pebbles,
I hammer alternated my knees
into the hardened wood of
a seasoned confessional balance beam
to an internalized glorious rock ballad,
“Tom Sawyer”,
which unsealed liquid divinity chambers
granting escapism into a world I was destined for
a world thriving without forced beliefs,
a world throbbing with smelt dingleberries
rich with unbridled laughter and cheese…
there would be unholy amounts of cubed cheese
screens
preliminary scans of
wall-mounted monitors
triggered underground heat sensors
mixing sorcery feed bags with mayhem
during a mid-sativa breakfast struggle session
enhancing my mental neighborhood of make-believe
the uncivilized scorchers of seeds
discarded etiquette bucket lists
demanding superficial luxuries like running water
to distract from reaching impenetrable Nirvana
which I bathed in on isolated Wednesdays
my fixed duty to embrace tradition was steadfast
tickling disappointment spectrums
involving mesh screen inventory brokers and suppliers
throughout most of America
being a noble pot snob reaper enriched
my life with bravado coupled with
annoying idiosyncrasies which I would
mute if my Jameson flask
was filled and cinched across my bulbous vessel
one effortless time burner involved
location of fictitious aromatic power pipe screens,
soaked in peppermint oil exported from
a region in India known as Haryana
screens were economical at almost a dime for a dozen
but I drew enchantment with making any mundane
task or combination of assignments into a
singular gut-wrenching experience
designer dividers for glass or
wooden devices protecting lung pockets
from cherry fireball shrapnel would pull harder
at wallets but this was to be expected
a decade of arguing would enter preachy avenues
as I continued on a loop about
my limited-release Mr. Couch Potato bong blaster
producing transcendental hope smoke color rings
if Haryana peppermint screen filters pushed their
vitality across the hyper-infused Pyrex tunnels of “Couchy”
following nine vetting procedures,
a transcendental placeholder listed on
the darkest of scary webs as
“Goose” arrived in stylish formation
adjacent to my comfortable
smoking lounge complete
with bags of beans
nobody would ever dare recline on
self-hypnotization dispatched lucid
bubbles of chaos while I rode into the
gates of paranoia hell which were surprisingly
tepid for this time in my Spicoli fantasy
Goose scrambled wheels seducing my mind
while he shapeshifted into a pregnant octopus
massaging warm creases of confusion across my temple
the allure of Goose painted hope boxes
storing mystery with a chimmer cham rumor
Goose descended from a boisterous line of gifted gaggle
historical pamphlets redacted
Goose as a flightless harbinger of glee
who studied Scooby-Doo reruns to gain
time-honored sleuthing skills
crafted by the artsy kids at
Hanna-Barbera University
redactions would not deter Goose
from tossing braggy parades
celebrating his redacted form
as my screen fulfillment liaison
reality would stabby stab serrated blades of misery
across daydream toke visions when
another elusive green-out jamboree
shaker snapped
all cheery smoke faces from
the chasms of hallucination assaults
chemtrails of patchouli
air raided my duck blind when
a pig-tailed, blemished jogger lassoed thirst traps
rocket blasting fragrance over my hot-boxed skin suit
into the shadowlands of my rented studio balcony
stoking creative screen search erections once more
Berthed from mischievous leprechauns near technicolor shadowlands surrounding Honah Lee, Theodore Wallbanger rides mysterious sparkle railcars bursting with cotton candy clouds dispatched from slippery erotic massage vixens who rage pillow laugh hourly within splintered transportation modules that scream along butterscotch wonder tracks forming vibrations for audiences across Sugar Hill Mountain.
world hunger 