Hash in the gash, thrill in the gill.
The water will rear its head
and make asses out of all of us.
Noxious gasses are coming
from virtually everywhere,
everywhere we are anyway,
so it seems just as good a time as any
to make a game of seeing who pukes first.
Vomit in a metaphysical sense
is called nostalgia, and we get a new nostalgia
every 20 years, mostly to benefit
the younger generation who didn’t live
through whatever era we’re celebrating.
I remember the 90’s just fine on my own,
thank you, and those years were vastly different
from how they’re romanticized.
So it’s now they eyes of the universe
are falling on me, falling on you, falling
on the rancid ground we stand upon
because an eye has got to fall
like a rock in an ocean or at the very least,
like bird shit on a car windshield.
Both have equal significance,
which is something I don’t.