POETRY

Rêve-Amp'T

Wibbly-Wobbly, Wabi-Sabi (Inspired by Mack Maloney's Military X-Files)

In pondering the imperfections of my memory’s fondness for exaggeration

I recall with tasty nostalgic tongue-tickeling zing, more than anything,
That by-gone succulent Wasabi Funyun-crunch
Other-worldly, distant, and reminiscent

That first delectable bite, into airy something

—a lot of empty space, out-of-place

The taste floats, in a hollow-shaped ring,
Feigning
That deep-fried Imperfect Circle of breaded onion—

What’s up, frito lay?
Why’d you take Wasabi funyuns away?

Was it to mess with senses
Maybe my head?
Did you know there’d be fallout?
Did you planet ahead?

Entertain the thought, Conjecture conception,

That of a blemish, or rather, An Imperfection,

All Wabi-Sabi,
Out-of-time,
And wibbly-wobbly

How on Earth, or otherwise,
Did the thought ever occur
To take horseradish ala Japonais,

Infuse it with the Funyun

(trademark Frito Lay)?

One might have conceived
The match was made in Heaven,
Or maybe somewhere in outer space,

Alien In(TERRE)vention?
Somewhat resembling
That Wabi-Sabi symbol,
And AGENT Dana Scully’s TATTOO.

Wabi-sabi Funyuns

SEEMS so obvi-
I think we need a Lobby

To bring back the Wasabi.

“Never Again” just won’t suffice, at any price,

We are not alone.

Somewhere, up there, I just know

Elon Musk has a time capsule,
on a rocket,
Filled with empty Wasabi Funyun bags,
A “Thank you” card, written in Uni-VERSAL,

With the postscript, “Please Send More."

“We are all in the gutter”

Rat’s Dream of Emperor’s Party
A chance to finally become
Something bigger than, he’s ever be’en.
“Why not reach for the stars?”

Nothing worth while ever came easy! so sayeth the Sage,
Sacrifice! Then sacrifice, some more.
Suffer those slings and arrows, for Fortune is Fickle, indeed!
Remember.

In death, whether fame or infamy,
The name is recalled,
FAR better, or VERSE.

Wrong is public opinion that fails
To comprehend down-trodden familiars
Who never seem to catch a break, a wave,
or that longed-for tail-wind!

RAT-A-Tat-tat
RAT-A-Tat-tat

So goes the cycle.

The one who won the race
Knew WHAT was at stake:
Rat’s Leap Year.

This Page is a work-in-progress. Some lInks work.

Misc Poetry

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