I Am The Slime

This burning question on the tip

of all our tongues: how can I

fix this other

who triggers me

with such wrongness?

Tempting to call this

a haunting by

a vagrant ancestor,

unmourned, long forgotten

playing a song

in your range.

I’m an alto

but I can reach the high

notes and I can go low.

So many emerge as I open

my mouth, burdened with impossible

all energy impeded


for this simple melody

of recognition-release.

How does this land

on me?  How is this mine?

Where am I holding

on to this continual torment


though I call it unwilling?

And so I sing

what is

committed to the integration

of not pretty or nice,

nothing to be proud

of saying aloud.

Shamed, afraid,

angry and grieving

loosening these tight


unraveling in the first

sonata of the symphony.

Life, wanting to live

through me

in all its messy

ugly, detested glory.


Inspired by Slime, Vagrant, Range, Haunting and the lyrics of this song from my youth:

I am gross and perverted
I’m obsessed ‘n deranged
I have existed for years
But very little has changed
I’m the tool of the Government
And industry too
For I am destined to rule
And regulate you

I may be vile and pernicious
But you can’t look away
I make you think I’m delicious
With the stuff that I say
I’m the best you can get
Have you guessed me yet?
I’m the slime oozin’ out
From your TV set. ~ Frank Zappa 1973

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

2 thoughts on “I Am The Slime”

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