i ching, please

tell me what i'm going to do
with a spinning dreidle afternoon
a life path of bent spine and heartless
tequila sunrises when darkness rolls
across the bay window of our child's eyes
what then home boy where's your cynical
cut and paste bottom line now?

i ching please throw a bone
to chubs, his victrola tail comic
eye reminiscent of the our gang curse
tell me how the fibroids play out
and the old lady skin shreds with each cut;

i ching , the swelling, antibiotic gelling
i ching the mending
and chronolgic sending, rebending the light
back to two thousand now, another world's end
where we didn't go pow, or did we and this
is the ghost alt fic fan arthur dentian  cow
last meal for our venerable  ancenstral esque tao.

i ching me forward, a varying vector collide ish
colloidish  , two joints beyond this.