Oh how pleasant to experience light headedness...

without sealing a pact or deathly deal

nor linkedin with dark forces
inducing tortured psyche to feel
or the aid or use of
consciousness expanding material,
and abandonment of hair
as frequently iterated within

mine many previous written poetic spiel.

Although plagued with lower back pain
(for the greater part of mein kampf)
on either side of my spine
my physical stance
tends to appear oblique
just subtly hinting
at being a hunchback
not of Notre Dame,
but an eight year
resident of Schwenksville,
who since getting
a major makeover
(courtesy the oft mentioned
Jesse at Salon Nova -
whose epic skill
with brush, comb and scissors
bitta bing bitta bang
suddenly finds others
to look at my handsome profile
(quite an adjustment
receiving accolades and
all around smiles
versus jabbering, mocking,
pointing, et cetera me
cause I indicated,
evinced and appeared
to others as a long haired
pencil necked geek
who infrequently showered
after many a week,
did elapse, thus emanating
an odor that didst reek
(even to yours truly)

of something spoiled or rotten
that in tandem to my long hair
unquestionably convinced, evinced
others within and without province
of Perkiomen Valley
a district (within southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania)
didst (without a Punxsutawney
shadow of a doubt honestly
look at me like a circus freak,
gifted with a button nose
versus an outsize beak,
which if cursed with the latter
would probably be able,
eager, ready, and willing
to keep my head above water
if caught unawares
(donning only my underwear -
fresh out of a shadow)
in the undertow and riptide
of an overflowing creek
thanks being equipped
with a hypothetical outsize schnozz
to save mein
little boy blue lookalike doppelgänger
of self from drowning
and possibly be worshipped
as a hero
(similar to rescuing
my younger sister
when she floundered
in the above ground pool
way back when family of origin
lived along Lantern Lane
in Audubon, Pennsylvania)
saving another life,
someone analogous
to my boyish self id est quite meek
who feels comfortable
sharing ala sneak peek
a snippet of random act of kindness
which deeds occurred infrequently
to another person,
whether family, friend or foe
and unvarnished truth be told
many a blessed sisterly
genuine acts of love
shown their sole
non-prodigal brother,
the middle offspring of three progeny
begat courtesy from a mama and papa,
who long since passed away,
by now their souls
ferried to spiritus mundi,
which most famously appears
in W.B. Yeats' poem
"The Second Coming,"
where said phrase refers
to a collective, universal memory
that holds all human symbols,
archetypes, and historical knowledge,
impossible realm to prove or disprove,

but though a cynic
in the eyes of an angry god,
in the eyes of
by Jonathan Edwards,
(1703–1758)
a colonial American preacher,
philosopher, and theologian:
Widely considered one
of the greatest American intellectuals,
he played a central role
in the First Great Awakening
and best known for his vivid sermon,
"Sinners in the Hands
of an Angry God,"
where cynic and sinner
effectively one and the same
from the perspective of wrathful deity,
the cynic's doubt
and intellectual detachment
seen as profound,
dangerous acts of rebellion

from an assertive furtive,
and intuitive quiet natured
married Caucasian, latitudinarian,
nonestablishmentarian, proletarian,
sexagenarian Unitarian.