Fleshed out as poetic confessional.

Profligacy prevailed pricking psyche
precipitating pandemonium.

I wrought havoc courtesy aegis
of paramours picadillos, yours truly did relish
crooning, clowning, and cavorting
around at Piccadilly Circus
located in Regent Street, Shaftesbury Avenue

Piccadilly, Covent Street and Haymarket.

Fast forward into the present
meaning Christmas day 2024.

Impossible mission to escape spectre
analogous to black barbs
blasted from BB gun
painfully punctuating
once pleasant orgasmic burbles.

Emotional fallout analogous
to radiation poisoning mein kampf
killing me softly with feline purring,
where I (a non believer) did lionize Lucifer.

Marriage plus father/daughter
unbridled edenic connection,
especially once unsullied paternal bond
with mine eldest
once a daddy's girl forever marred
with ineradicable mercurial malefaction
(by jove earthling linkedin to Saturnalia)
in tandem to severely dislocated

troth I did pledge

toward the missus forever
harboring faith no more
toward counterpart,
which husband
espoused devious dereliction.

Amidst frolicking holiday good cheer
ah, how I bemoan the days
before childhood's end
when days of my life
characterized by boyhood
chock-full of innocent bliss
(except for meek demeanor
sitting stock still
taking up space and time
within quaint little red school house)
as the world turned
betrayal cast dark shadow
shattering bedrock placer deposit
casting promising fidelity
to outer limits of twilight zone

once (kneeling) young miner
for a heart of gold,
ever since wife forever suspicious,
she automatically monitors online behavior,
and roundly, playfully, and nimbly lambastes
errant foolhardy guise valiantly dolled up,
and couched as innocuous platonic ruse
bolstered by sheepish mien of mine
she never presumed rambunctious shenanigans
sundering, soldiering, and shouldering
pretence of sharing a spot of tea
until day er night of reckoning discovered
vis a vis when yours truly
brazenly, flagrantly, and licentiously
gabbed within hearing range to mistress
who dwelled in deepest darkest “Africa”
hours later returning back
to 724 West Railroad Avenue
being severely rebuked
since then schlepping self imposed shame
analogously videre licet
Atlas shouldering the world.

Whenever fleeting
will-o'-the-wisp fantasies flicker
such as a pleasant repartee
between yours truly and a pretty thang

such as recently espied
at the Thomas Paine Fellowship,
a venue I resumed attending

after a hiatus of countless years -

housing secular humanists,
an automatic rapid fire
of illicit thoughts elicited sexual propensity
spellbinding me with seduction.

I chastise my devilish doppelganger

for teasing me
(a whirling dervish
contra aery to popular belief)
with testosterone laden trysts
torturously twisting
time traveling troubadour

out of place within the twenty first century.