Twelve Links

…the familiar game of Bridge
between Old Age, Sickness Death and Bliss-going by his other name-
rages for days;
but the blame is passed and the bid rolls on.
Looking to the sleeping baby in the corner of Reality’s room,
Sighing pussywillow breaths from cotton lips
Bliss points his finger past the contempt filled jars
Catching sunlight on his window
And stares maliciously, angrily,
And the verbal arrow punctures time.
“Three days ago I was yet to be born!” Christ cries defensively.
“Besides, you made the doctor conceive of me,
reaching with your outstretched fingers, grasping past rubber walls.
Lets get first things first, it hurts that you curse me
And whats worse is, even I can see you’re still thirsty!”
Caught off-guard
And feeling the goosebumps and billion pons stickle the skin
Bliss reels, and looks past the curtains,
Bliss feels fear rising to the surface, and then past it
The expanding knowledge from the
Plastic contact of this physical existence contorts and is a hallucination of bombastic proportions.
Three-deimensional bubbles bobble by, budding new brains and pains
And necks tense with fears all along the six-sense spheres
Floating in the dead sea.
In the next room,
Consciousness stares at her own body
Her form in the mirror
Who stares back. But neither can understand what they are seeing until,
Making loe, the cry each others names to the stars
And poke the polished vacuum with frail forks and Nova knives
Merging actions with questions and losing touch
With stuff they sluff much to escape the crutch of the such and such
Named bliss.
“Come back to the Table,; cuz we can’t just play with the three of us!”
cries death as old age and sickness nod in agreement.
Stop getting so excited by your nightly denial.
And over-inflated question marks make the shape of a billions Suns and Planets,
dancing circles unknowing, haplessly going on…
Forever flowing past…
The familiar game of Bridge….