I had been warned

ABOUT THE PERILS OF THIS YAB------123456------There is no time for words or a note or sleep or even a pause to catch the breath.

IT IS A YAB TO BREATHE------123456------So the aspiring Yogi, this body, says. Or the burp that seems to have disappeared. I vomit instead of burping. It is something that I've been puzzling over and like always, I am afraid to ask humans playing Gods; afraid to have someone tell me, "You are very ill and whatever it is you're doing now you have to stop."

MY LEPRECHAUN HAD SAID SOMETHING ABOUT VOMITING THIS YAB------123456------I said, "I literally do that. I think my esophagus is dangerously thin."

BUT THE YAB IS NECESSARY------123456------And every time I joke, "No more! No more!" Lives say, "You have to stay." Even my leprechaun says so.

THIS YAB HAS MADE ME FAT------123456------And that is corpulent unhappiness. But then again before this I was too thin, unhappy too. Who wouldn't be when one is grieving?

THIS YAB IS CONTINUOUS GRIEVING------123456-------and sometimes I find myself waiting for a sunrise or a sunset that would mark the end of sadness. One morning I woke up before the sun and there was the moon, only, "This is how the sun would look cold." And one afternoon, I looked up and there was the sun,mute and old. One sadness rises as the other falls only to rise again and that is grief. It is not seen, nor heard. It trickles in when the mouth hardened into a smile would breathe.

IT IS A YAB, HAPPINESS------123456------But in truth, I suppose that it will always be an abstract. I never dream of it; it is not real. They still talk about what is real and speculative. Nonsense.

I CAN'T DO THIS YAB ANYMORE------123456------But then the question: Then what?

A YAB, THIS PAUSE------123456------To still explain what is tacit: I am saving the poisoner from my evil chemicals rendering me paralyzed. Excuse my absence. Be still, my womb says to me, or I will keep on clawing you. Now, hush, and let sleep come, let me come, let the rotting blood assault you.

A WAITING YAB, A SEARCH------123456------whose fingers are searching about how the monster Naga grew a cock and fucks the Mother. Patience, human monster, that will come.

FATHER, MOTHER, THIS IS A YAB------123456------I have been silent and I stay away. I do not wish to say "I am ill, I need you" instead of "Hello, how are you?" I do not wish tears to be words. I do not want to be heard.

PRETENSE THE YAB------123456------Sometimes I think that the inevitable began a long time ago and we've been defying the fatal. That cut on the finger that would have bled to death...That first cut on the abdomen that would have poisoned to death...Those fevers that would have burned to death...That paralysis that was a living death...That second cut and all those cuts that followed...Perhaps, salvation had already come with that first cut and it had passed. The world made sense after, didn't it. Gritting, it continues.

YAB, THE HOLE------123456------This whirlpool of monsters, frozen in a spin. All can be plucked and autopsied by a keyboard. All are edible. All are regurgitated. The obvious has never been more obvious, J.D. Salinger told me to ask the strippers.

CURSE THE YAB------123456------A cat told me that my brain is too fast and I'm a dog of a bassa because other synapses aren't fast enough. "What?They're blind that they can't see?" I had snapped. The brain is made up of three brains and we're just using a fingertip of it. Lazy eyes, cross eyes, snap, snap, focus, see?

MARCH TO THE YAB------123456------through the human muck that is the yab, the nattering of the yab, march------123456------ march------123456------ march!