Ham Hu

[Guest guest]

Ham I am and ham I stand,

circular, log(ick!) spiral, carved by desire

and identity to a being a hotshot of a hotdog-doer.

 

So Ham somehow had a hand in the hauling of a ham

around on my shoulders in lieu of head.

I am hubris-headcheese hanging in a market.

 

I hand out sham ham samples hacked from my hambone head.

I pack hambits of hogwash and spoonfuls of spiritual spam-chits

into hooey for youee

and sufficentlyly impressed,

then call it a helping hand for the man I think I am not.

 

What a helpful ham I am!

 

I ham it up for myself like an eerily echoing elf of past selfs,

like an eternally grinning tamasic troll with goal

to appear to know

e v e r y t h i n g…

 

I sometimes stand on my own handheld ham head and crow

like a cosmic cock, like a harloting ham-king calling the light

to appear on command.

 

Flick of the wrist my ass!

Teeheehee my hinee!

 

Perfect Pitch and Pure Tone are hard to hear

through the queer practice of wearing a helmet of ham!

Ham that I am I can still stand happy and smile,

smile with a rather sweet, meaty smile with flecks of Mazie stuck

between the spaces of traces of sala(me)-talking tommy-rot

and raja-talk rot-gut squawking moxy

bellowed from the ham radio of identification.

 

And I realize that the pork pies of promoting my one-man show,

the desire to be in the know, to look like I know some thing,

lots of things, everything about God and getting it, and giving up

are just so much of the universal functioning, well, functioning.

 

And furthermore, what I’ve been selling of myself,

To myself it seems, said the dream,

what I’ve been peddling like bibles, like snake-oil,

aren’t really any less than the Gita or the New Testament.

 

Every single fibre of the ham heralding a tale or a myth as truth

is but a gift from Love to Itself, Smokin’ and Cookin’

all our chronic symptoms seeded into this illness and wellness

this rightness and wrongness

from an idea that there is this now,

that there will be some future

that hasn’t already unfolded

and toted

hams, hotdogs, foot longs,

bacon, steaks, cutlets,

sausage, meatballs, prosciutto

and every form of personaic adornment that offers its morsels of I

to the Delight of the Ham-Dharma.

 

I’ve been doing deadly serious dharma combat

in Armour Hotdog mail

and Oscar-Mayer headgear.

 

It’s a howl,

It’s a hoot

that I shoot

from the hip

about my trip of the tripe

being spied for what it is.

 

"Ho-Hum," said the ham-headed One…

 

Heave one up for the ham getting spammed by Love!

Here’s to the Head who feeds us its shiny-slick ham of I am!

Give it up for the Ham!

 

LoveAlways,

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