This past life, this ominous joke
This old-world debutaunte
Looming in the air
Chiding unabashedly
“You did that last time!”
With the face of a cackle witch
And purported good intentions
She, the beast of Karma and lesson-learning
The one-room schoolhouse wench who leaves my bottom bloody red,
She owns me like a pendant chain
Twirling ’round her neck
Pulling, nibbling, contemplating
Plotting, rewinding, replaying
She has me in her sights
In her grip
She sees the train-wreck in slow motion
And relishes, delights,
Feigns a pitied look for me
At last I see, she’s insincere
Whilst groveling at her feet,
Begging for a change of pace,
Lapping at her traveled toes,
Then did I realize that this wench
Knows not the change of course
For she, too, got it wrong, of course!
Trapped in karmic limbo not above me
but alongside me, for eternity,
embittered from the ceaseless tragedy,
Oh, strange and soured vicarious empathy!
And now her green bosom does rise and fall in rye laughter at my falls
Banana peel factory that she is,
Self-fulfilling, mad-hattered whore
Where once I did seek her wisdom, I now only seek
a silence as abiding
as her torture.