Table of |
Sing it Frank, Physical Therapy
Sing it Frank
I'm busy at physical therapy
struggling with back spasms
looking out this window, these clouds
this rain, slice this thunder,
listening to your songs over again
on the Muzak for this 6th week in a row,
peddling this mechanical bike,
might as well be a mechanical bull
with a heat pad on my spinal cord.
I'm deep inside your larynx 10 minutes
3 times a week tickling it back and forth,
jousting and reviewing those playgrounds
of all your illicit affairs. With a few shots of vodka
peddling these wheels with intensified pressure
I can appreciate Lana Turner, Judy Garland,
Lauren Bacall, even Marilyn Monroe.
"This is my kind of town Chicago is,
my kind of town Chicago is."
Michael Lee Johnson
Give Me Booze or Give me Jesus
Give me booze or give me Jesus
If we listened to the bottom of the vodka bottle,
or finished the last chapter book of Revelation,
the spirits toss in the cards, the chips-
pray for a gambler.
Listen to summer sun, birds that chirp,
these are the beginnings and where it ends.
Michael Lee Johnson
cemetery © Robert Heman
Journaling, Labeling Theory (V2)
Breaking news this just in,
1:15 PM December 15, 2013,
I found out labeling theory
has a personality.
It has impact of its own.
I love today because I
found out I have a mental illness.
now I am special.
Shrink, Dr. Pennypecker, knows me well.
We visit 15 minutes every 3 months.
I have known him for 9 months.
Simple sentences just make more sense.
Simple sentences make me feel more secure.
After 9 months he says, "I've sort of figured
you out, you are a manic depressive, stage 2 hypo-mania."
I ask my shrink, "can I cast my vote?"
In this PM news, I gave him permission.
Life is a pilgrimage of pills.
I cast out my net to catch myself,
Life is a pilgrimage of prayers.
Note: it could end here.
He does not know the difference
between manias, verses six shots of vodka.
I suffer from a B-12 deficiency.
I need extra thiamine symptoms psychosis.
I place my lid down on forsaken table,
foreskin, I forgive.
A dead shrink, middle of the road.
I crack my knuckles,
pass sleep two next night.
Creativity flows fragmented.
I kick gravesites up then down.
Michael Lee Johnson__