A Man Called Da-da tries to yield
to whatever the moment brings... er, demands.
He knows his head is now filled mostly with air.
Or hydrogen, which would explain why he's
bumping on the ceiling and ready to explode.
No illusions remain in his indentured worldview.
No resistance in his will.
His mind and will are gone;
like the government, they're lost in a pile of robots and sharp plastic things.
Da-da doesn't think about things anymore,
his endless repetitive actions,
because there's rarely time for that.
Da-da's actions flow from the Core of Whatever
to carve out the Valley of Ok, Da-da.
Da-da holds nothing back from life
because Da-da signed up for this.
The flow is the go.
And strong winds CAN blow all day
depending on how much sugar has been ingested.
Da-da knows when he's beat.
He folds and patiently awaits a new deal at summer's end,
the hope of Back-to-School.
[Excerpted from Da-da's third book, The Tao of Da-da (or, Strong Winds CAN Blow All Day, Depending on How Much Sugar Has Been Ingested). Void where prohibited. Publishers welcome... once school starts.]
|Be good, monkey.|
[Orig. published August, 2013.]