This Has Nothing to Do with What You Think It Does

When you feel blessed
your are a guitar filled with a sort of image
that evokes Star Trek or something
identifiable, Wallace Stevens, maybe,
or, whatever, a kind of figure
who looks decent in a suit.
The string tie this sort of icon wears is
inevitably black, and also shook
by the shoulders. Monks do the shaking.
Also, priests in clown robes.
Also, meantime, back in your hometown
a certain family exists, as does a certain
family room. Ah, you have slept on this
couch. Also, with the blessings of absolutely
no one, you have experienced what
it means to house-sit and feed cats
and also, not feed cats when there are no longer
cats. I hate the way I choose to communicate.
I'm trying to choose something different
but then I've always believed in my ability
to be wrong. I only say this because
it's true. I even hate that.
It's not so much that I hate it, but, people,
really, the time is right, I'm not
exaggerating, seriously, the light is
on. On here. Over here. On here is.
Blah, da da da. Blah, da da da. Blah, da
da da da da.