Psychological Gridlock

WD-40 resistant, cranky

mental gears no longer appraised,

honored, nor prized

as a precision crafted tool

never adequately utilized,

when eyes stared blankly

taking up space and

time (sigh hence) during

during twelve years

of public school

passively mute as a general rule

ambivalent, whether I sank or swam

during physical education

time in the pool

evincing being in

somnambulant state giving

top notch 40 ache curs and a mule

a run for his/her money,

plus also outwitting

any motley fool

nonetheless garnering huzzahs

if challenged to silent duel

despite implacable blackened

barbs didst unspool

assaulting me though

vicious and cruel

fast forward to

Matthew Scott Harris

at this present age

once feigned numbskull,

now deeply rutted,

pockmarked, cratered, asper

useful as fist size asteroid,

which post mortem will

not surprisingly, definitively,

and conclusively gauge

imagine dissecting my

fifty plus shades

of gray matter

revealing analogously glommed

together one severely

gunked up bacteriophage,

where once upon a time,

when a newborn babe

feeling warmth mother's chest,

she long since

passed away forced guest

to attend masquerade

hosted by grim reaper,

a most nefarious,

obnoxious, and pernicious pest

intricately, handsomely, genetically

her cremated remains

freed to the four corners

of the globe quest

inert particles integrated

within biosphere, she remains

perpetually in motion,

and never at rest

within infinite void

nonetheless...the spirit

of (the late) Harriet Harris

passed the electric

acid kool aid test,

and thus continues

to sprinkle the world

wide web with zest.