Strange Old Poem Poem by Monos Unalos

Quid pro quo;
My mind for my words
I see that I shall
In this life
Most likely not
Ever be free,
Quid pro quo;
My experience for
My death
The only exchange
That is almost entirely
Sturdy
And never exempt
From occurring
In this flat out wicked
Long-haullin
Excursion
Of conscious
And sub-conscious
Mixed chemicals
Spinning forward
The wheels of my blood and bones
Seemingly heedlessly
And most definitely
For all intents and purposes
Foolishly into the long cold night
Awaiting my arrival
Ubiquitously.

But there remains
A strange
Recluse brown spider
Spinning webs
In my brain,
He seeks for nourishment
But only in vain
From the masses of stickly
Legged insane
Insects and bees
That make up his meals
And allow him to stay
Spinning the wheels
For every new day.

There is ironically
A quixotic element mixed in with
His work
That is quite admirable
For regardless
Of the
Gestures
And smirks
Of all the dark ones surrounding
And attempting
To sting him into
That same end that
Arises for
All,
He mumbles onward
Sketching
His intent
Through me
Here to you
In hopes that
One day there
Will be worthy dawn
For the meaning of courage
And knowledge of the wrongness
In wrong.

But enough!
For now will I abrogate
This perfunctory
Task
Of spinning out words in hopes
That they’ll last
And return to me
With the speed of a yoyo
A prize similar
In nature
To a year
With a beautiful women on the
Island of
Belize
Where even
Quite possibly
A poor fool with
Melissophobia
Might just
Yes might
Just be able
To set sail upon
Happy free
Careless
And healthy
Sees,
Places devoid
Of all
Our personal
Bees.