Getting through the
daze
Recently been having this vision
of the whole Peanuts gang nodding
out on heroin, heads really
hanging
perhaps around that poor
crestfallen
Christmas tree where all the pine
needles have posthumously fallen
with the fizzling lights, droopy
star
teetering on top, all messed-up
around
the mound by that makeshift
lemonade
psychiatrist stand, or that wall
where Linus
and good ole Chuck Brown make
their final
stand, bow their heads,
grief-stricken, contemplative
and question, Socratic method,
kind and compassionate
their existence, contented.
watching days pass right
in front of them, and see both
their perspectives, their
moods and behavior, then crash
with elbows eternally
leaned-up, head in hand and
earnestly, existentially
discuss dreams and goals, resolve
conflicts and try
to figure out the futile,
impossible problems of the
world, the pained and perplexing
suffering soul
exchanging thoughts and ideas and
future plans
right where the seasons change,
but scene always
seems to remain the same, the
trees and leaves
and tops of bleak twinkling
roofs, steeples,
temples, mosques, mausoleums,
streets
and lamplight sputtering with a
pastel
sun falling, big bulge of
breathtaking
moon rising, turning from day to
evening
leaving simply those stray
starlit stoops
with a whole wistful windswept
village
swept up in blessed silhouetted
geometric
forms and images of the sobering
season
The hyperactive and psychotic and
driven
Snoopy who I never much cared for
his overconfident personality
Marcy and Peppermint Patty
finally finding each other
Pigpen misunderstood
underestimated
Franklin the black
kid never taken in
Lucy the loud mouth
who just never shuts
the fuck up, but who
knows maybe I’m just
going through some sort
of mid-life crisis of sorts
most likely not and am just
trying to find ways to cope
and catch up on everything
I believe I missed out on
from a very complex
and competitive
overbearing
and overwhelming
passive-aggressive
impossible Jewish culture
does that make sense at all?
And so thus maybe just prefer
seeing the whole Peanuts gang
strung-out on dope, not saying
a whole hell of a lot
a bunch of distant
disobedient dwarf
dope addicts
completely
out of it
contented
centered
blissfully
nodding out
to that brilliant
bee-bopping piano
and brush drums
of a mean and
moody magical
Vince Guaraldi solo
building up then fading
off in the background
all of them naturally
shuffling home
on their own
by their own
choice and
volition
pace and
space and
time and
leisure in
a constant
state of flux
through the fading
glow and opaque
drizzly autumnal
leaf piles of some
divine dwindling
disappearing
season.
- Joseph Reich 2015
Joseph
Reich has been published in a wide variety of eclectic literary
journals both here and abroad, been nominated five times for
The Pushcart Prize, and his books
in poetry and cultural studies include, "A Different Sort Of Distance" (Skive Magazine
Press) "If I Told You To Jump Off The Brooklyn Bridge" (Flutter Press) "Pain
Diary: Working Methadone & The Life & Times Of The Man Sawed In Half" (Brick Road Poetry Press)
"Drugstore Sushi" (Thunderclap
Press) "The Derivation
Of Cowboys & Indians" (Fomite
Press) "The Housing Market: a comfortable place to jump
off the end of the world" (Fomite Press)
"The Hole That Runs Through Utopia"
(Fomite Press) "Taking The Fifth And
Running With It: a psychological guide for
the hard of
hearing and blind" (Broadstone Books) "The Defense Mechanisms:
your survival guide to the fragile mind"
(Fomite Press)
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