Monday, September 16, 2019

Oh Boris, your foulness cannot be expunged with Lavoris... or even fine wine…

Perhaps we could try lye. 

Oh,

But dumpf has all the lies. 

***

I ate a lot. 

My gut feels like rot. 

Coffee and beer,

If my stomach could talk, it would shed a tear. 

***

Will tomorrow be different?

Will it be the same mildly pleasant, obsessive feast?

At least if I get out early, there’s a promise of 

A premise off the premises. 

***

And what if I were successful, really, really successful?

I wouldn’t be able to take the pressure, the stress. 

Oh that would be one hell of a mess. 

***

Self-sabotage 

Keeps happiness as a pleasant, distant mirage. 

***

I feel sick. 

It’s a trick I do with insulin. 

Keeping me just a little more fat than thin. 

***

“How well do I know Beth?,” he asked. 

A good question with which to be tasked. 

***

I’m a pretty good trader. 

Can I bring that skill, that cool logic to diabetes management?

I already have, up from my nadir. 

(Good thing I’m not Ralph Nader.)

Ok Mr. Trader:

I’m a gent bent on becoming an agent, with agency 

Urgency held in check, as fears go below deck. 

Friday, September 13, 2019

What would get me out of the house?

A Seussian mouse?

Drinks to get soused?

Ice cream better than Jim Beam. 

***

Beth and I are closer. 

Is it the Zoloft dose er?

****

Michael and I share self esteem issues. 

Who doesn’t?

Mustn’t feel ashamed 

This could be harnessed, tamed. 

***

I’m intimidated, a little, by Debby

Deb, Deborah dancing a plethora of stuff 

More than enough. 

Was her interest prurient?

I invited it, oh so masochistically luxuriant. 

***

Why bother to start again?

I’ll only have the same problems when

And then 

My past haunts from plenary to periphery,

from plenary to periphery!

You get the gist of me?

***

Perfectionism

Procrastination 

Masturbation 

Enough drugs 

My heartstring tug 

A simple hug 

***

Points of intersection 

A selection awaiting election 

What a delightful confection. 

***

Little burned black been 

Went unseen tween gum and tooth

Did this happen in truth to 

Clare Luce Booth?

***

I want to write

None of my ideas seem bright

This night. 

Don’t fight 

Delight in whatever is there 

Here or wherever ideas sparkle and flare. 

So there!

***

Post group, I’m a little raw. 

I’ll give myself time to thaw. 

***

Ira pushed me to talk about dad. 

had not wanted to;

wasn’t bad. 

***

Friday the thirteenth 

In betweenth I meanth 

From last week to this 

I hiss and start 

Apart from a mild dread

Getting out the lead 

Instead of going to bed 

Better red than an onion 

Paul Bunyan or Jon Daniel Runyan  

Upon a pun this ton of anxiety, anxiety!

Here we all sit in silent, anxious perplexity 

Waiting for Ira. 

****

That drumpfish clone

That clumpishly prone British drone 

Skittishly reported being a usurper of the throne dares not care about food and medicine shortages

Keeping his people to his idiocy hostages. 

Thursday, September 12, 2019

Ira asks for no adulation. 

Just a little appreciation

He’s optimistic, reflects positively 

A helpful man. 

If I can

I want to learn his brilliant clarity 

Couched in humility and humanity. 

****

He was angry because I’ve made considerable progress working with him. 

My being pennywise snd pound foolish 

Beth’s anxiety about money 

Thinking therapists are fungible goods 

I’ve misunderstood. 

Again. 

And then I realize the lay if the land 

I may choose a different fork 

Neither grand nor tied in inertia’s torque. 

***

Time to tame wordy writing

Making it plain. 

So the meaning one can ascertain. 

In the main, refrain from writing a quatrain. 

****

I could write in my journal. 

I could pretend to be a Colonel. 

I could re-fry chicken in Kentucky. 

If I’m lucky I can try

To buy time to tame the inner beast 

At least to help the poorest have a little of the rich man’s feast. 

***

The problems of the world I do nothing to solve. 

Oh evolve already!

Hold steady. 

We’ve heard this all before. 

Just lighten up the OCD; get out the door. 

What’s more: it’s an f-ing bore. 

Wednesday, September 11, 2019***

The Towers fell. My neighbors killed. Putrid the air.

*********

The angerThe group The lustThe loopThe goopThe gist of lustListing till I go bust!

***Diabetes, can I manage it

With self-imposed treaties?

***More creativity A crack in my procrastination 

Moderated libation. 

***Dumpf turned away hurricane victims saying they didn’t have the right documentation. He meant they weren’t from the whitest nation. 

****If I were more in touch with my angerWould it dissipate in the light of day?Say! That’s an idea with which to play. ***

Tuesday, September 10, 2019N

No way to read the markets. Malarkey, might as well be trading in tar pits. 

***Not so angry that I recognize Tried on denial for sizeBargaining I realize A seeming prizeWise guy, depressed, a little I confess. An awkward dance as I prance toward acceptance.

***Boris, a dumpfian clone

Sits perilously close to the Royal throne. 

***A reduction in libido Is not a small thing Not at all. This lessening libido thing Has an alluring ring 

Ding chocolates Alcoholics?

Lack of libido Not a credo Just from meds

Easier to get to bed. Certainly not the only or main reason I wed. 

Monday, September 9, 20199:30 pm ***There’s always a stock of options.Always a better choice. Just listen to that tiny little inner voice. ***Old is a state of mind. A state of mine and yours Going to stores for meds Instead of Keds. ***Sally sat high on the hill. She sat there quite still, until Jill, having her fill with her beaux, BillDecided enough of that beaux. “Though, I know it’s touch and go.”So, she got up, up to the top of that hill.Yes that Jill shared quite a thrill sharing Sally’s shady shaded point of a viewpoint until all hours getting time out of joint. So they shared a joint until they had their fill. Cling, cling said Mahler, that fills the beaux’s bill. ***The red eye of the craneSat high in the clouded night sky Plain to see, one could not deny A weather report from a golf course kind of guy.7 amAnother low BG during the nightOh what a self-imposed blight. ***A new day, another clichéOlé, OK, I pray to the godOf self-mocking sodAt least giving a nodThen off to OCD, whipping myself with an internal rod.****Two stepsTwo and a half steps up, then forward Sixteen steps in-between A step back, oh alas and alack Keep it up if you want a heart attack****Why so negative?Why so many intrusive thoughts?I ought to do this. I ought to do that. The masochist Cat said The one wearing too many nefarious hats. ****At that I’ll retreat Waking to my own neat little beat. Sunday, September 8, 20019The group didn’t overly snoop. It was mostly funI didn’t need to run Nobody to my head put a gun. ***Pun gun run son sunnyEaster Bunny eggGet a leg UpNo need to sign a prenup. ****Preen said the queen, trying not to be meanAs usual she did what the PM asked She prorogued Parliament, Boris unmasked Probably not an idea in the Magna CartaAn idea not particularly smarter.****The group unleashed my pent-upFestive, well-rested creative, Ira-inspired festivities My proclivities toward depression Seemed to lift with first impressions.****A yen for yen, said uncle Ben when he then went to KenFor advice on market ideas aplentyMinting twenties Hundreds and more not just bunts and singles Mingle improvement in trading with more of life’s joyous tinglesAvoid puts and callsAvoid all pitfalls. ****A life of trading, a trader’s life Ein Heldenleben-tradung A little writing, some languages, exercise and meditation Friends, better eating, a drop of elationA few meds, get out of bed Make meeting people easier, more fun and What do you know, you son of a gun There’s a ton to be learned More than just a buck to be earned.