Vic (through my tears)

i am a monster like Quasimoto
or Caliban, the natural man
"giving wild Ripostes to my reflection"
(paraphrase from W.H. Auden - THE DYER'S HAND)
one Ugly Morning in a rage
father threw an Apple into my Carapace
And like the Invisible Man directing traffic
i'd be Ineffective no matter How enthusiastic
amid The masses Frenzied participation
in This Mass of separation
appearance is Everything
So nothing Is how it seems
in Civilized society
It's called civility
i'm The phantom of the Opera
singing "Beauty and the Beast"
or Henry Darger's autobiography
and that Is curt clues to my Essence
planned Obsolescence
Appearance Is everything
so Nothing ishow it Seems
In a market economy
it's called Marketing

Not Exactly clawing my Way to Glory
nor Whimpering in The wind
but once Positively
teetering On the brink
of An all out Breakthrough
Sometimes clearheaded
sometimes a Doofus
Sometimes very cordial
and sometimes Aloof
i Am syruply optimistic One moment
and then Gravely Pessimistic the Next
irritable As a hornet Sometimes
Agreeable as it Gets
i'm Not a pagan
I don't worship Anything
not gods That don't exist
Nor the Sun which is Oblivious
i Love my Ancestors
but not Ritually
I don't blame Them or Praise them
for Anything that They passed along To me
and I don't Need stone altars
To help me hedge My bet
against the Looming Blackness
that Is what it is, it is What it is!