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A senior moment experienced by this drip...


awash with intermittent amnesia.

Scant number of minutes elapsed...

before I forgot whether yours truly
took another dose of glycopyrrolate
ingested as a palliative prescription
medication addressing the issue of
palmar hyperhidrosis -- excessive
perspiration of palms of hands, an
unpleasant physiological symptoms
afflicting me more than three fourths
of my threescore and six years or
more specifically sixty six orbits
alive to the sound of music
debilitating, hobbling, loosing
a torrent of water dripping
(think Murchison Falls -
After crossing the gorge,
the water pours down
falling freely 45m below
creating a strong water spray
on which the rainbow is formed)
off the ventral side, id est anterior
(front) surface of the hand
an uncontrollable exudation
of wet sometimes saturated
issuance wren during
physical contact (particularly
a handshake) quite aggravating
and part of the reason
(without rhyme), I shied away
filling out applications,
a major self conscious
legendary characteristic
of my being at least
as far back as when

yours truly a poor student
at Methacton High School
creating a great disruption
when quizes or major midterms
or final examinations occurred
witnessing dog awful dilemma
when using pen(cil) and paper,
because the royal pain in the arse
sopping wet diaphoresis
significantly like duh impacted
satisfactory writing without the ink
or graphite turning into liquid,
yet never did I
(an extremely shy youth)
tell teacher (if young and female
generated flushed and hot sensations
finding me to blush),
but even if the pedagogue
a male never did mine tongue
wag to plead if I could retake the test
teasing out qualifications or knowledge
(ofttimes memorized strictly
for those minutes
of absolute zero noise),
when intense concentration
attempted to bring
to the fore of the mind
(essentially a mission impossible
even for the likes of ace actors,
who made their debut
when original "Mission: Impossible"
television series and made for silver screen
(countless decades later)
"Mission: Impossible - starring macho
and adroit Top Gun globetrotter,)
to weed out unsavory malefactors,
and Cruise’s (he
of Risky Business endless fame)
endearing, one-man crusade
to get butts back in movie theater seats
in spite of executives trying
to sell the industry out to streaming
the none-too-subtle subtext
of 2023’s delightful
“Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning”
also included a cameo appearance
of nondescript appearance
with his trademark characteristic
of longish wavy hair
giving him cachet as self anointed
free verse writing Poet
of Penn Valley, Pennsylvania
playing a well known woolgatherer
who recently returned from zzz land,
where dreams made
but rarely REMembered.

 

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i98-978J78IK

Brief Bio:Hi (Matthew Scott Harris - berthed January xiii, circa mcmlix). Hi yam juiced dime a dozen penniless bitcoin (a chip off the ole blockchain) branching off the tree men dous skeined wide whirled webbing courtesy aye push (apish) predecessors humanity. Aye got pro pence city to ply (close on par with Wordsworth wandering willy shake his spear), their weight in gold, and thus as a scribe take to the most vibrant media platform these days (electronic soapbox) to express most bothersome doggone fiendish harmful jerk, lobbing nuggets packed resplendently, tightly unfashionably vested with yik yak animal clout. Tis like a stormy field day (tour wren NATO), asper communicating, expressing, gut heaving input. Tinder days of yore sparked psychological conflagration kindle ling outlook per questionable rite Trump violated with yipping brigands doing dirty deeds done dirt cheap. Though unknown to thee twittering, reading public and chattering class, this totally tubular thought provoking meister jabberwocky houses full deshabille attire invoking an automatic repulsion if aiming to affect "FAKE" couture of nouveau riche. No ambition to clothe thyself in the latest craze, fashions, gizmos, kool leaning trends always found this middle aged, monkey's peanut size uncle (a Lioness Paul lean), mwm to be an outlier. Early years of mine kempf fraught with emotional, physical and spiritual angst, when forced thru the gauntlet thrown up by one eyed punks with jagged lightning bolt designed scars. They (the madding crowds of foo fighting beastie boys) throve on being mean, and stepped up the propensity of bullying, especially since this presently grown man evinced (as a pipsqueak), an extremely cowering, frowning, identity guard.

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