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The Man Who Jammed The World Down His Sleeve

Act I: This is What Illusion Was Meant to Be.

Brushing by the carpet’s edge…
David takes his seat at the table’s head.
He drums his fingers along the granite top
while he watches for his toast to pop and is handed
his favorite blend from the freshened coffee pot.

“Morning hun!”

The words echoed then remained
still as the morning mist rapt inside his brain.
“Morning.” He staggers back…
Before stabbing at a half-eaten yolk,
broken by an unusually forceful habitat.

His kids sit in silence with their eyes facing down;
as ‘OK Computer’ drones through the background,
forcing a robotic man to never let his guard down.

“Do you believe in magic?”

Dave quickly puts illusion to the task and
confusion’s brisk notion and jubilant laughs
mask the illusion of a prudent past!
His children sit and clap with jovial whims
”Daddy bring it back!” they scream as he sits and grins.

Act II: Where Life Works it’s Magic.

Dave passes the same house on the same road
as his blinking lights signal the same fallen souls,
that follow him down this solemn role.
Impasse imperfections flex their same-knotted route
As a pounding vein pumps blood out
through his retina…
as he slows through school zones
to view the same glass-slipper Cinderella.

The world turns red, but not to his delight,
the same traffic light he barely misses
stares into the abyss where he sits and twitches;
mouthing ‘Walk.’…
to the same pedestrians who always seem to cross.

Dave returns to his desk job, listening to his same boss
Toss the same sexual innuendos while overusing lost
meaning with... ‘Yes… I got the memos…’
Mute to the keyboard’s crescendo
mode, Dave descends upon the armchair’s mold.
Swiveling around the axis’ - creaking pitch…
Punching binary code into his head!

He sits in serenity, panicky from his routine realm,
killing home remedies of cognac and blue liqueur…
While stomaching back the same anxiety pills
from the year before!

Act III: Who Can Claim Miracles When Jesus Has Been Dead For Years?

The addict in an abstract illusion’s portrait
with a concave canvas from the lines he’s snorted
off the office’s imported marble toilet sits -
under the black light’s illumination of his bloodstained wrist!
Kissing the bureau’s floral bathroom stall –
others can’t help but stop and sneer,
at the man who made the world disappear.

He drives the same winding forgotten road,
proposing an ode to his children as he stops and swerves -
returning home to listen to them drone;
“Daddy bring it back!”
All the while the world bleeds magic ink as his fabrics breathe
The air from the kids tugging at…

…His sleeve!

“Shh Mommy… Daddy’s sleeping now.”