I used to be big
in the dust jacket scene.
I had things on my mind
too bearable to properly endure.
Any given Sunday
was the crux of my personal creed.
I could read the writing on the wall
in six languages and emerge unscathed.
I wore my heart as a hair-shirt.
I managed to let everyone
and myself down, and still do to this day.
I had a way of putting wonder to shame.
I woke up without
any recollection of my name
or how I came to acquire it.
There was a lump in my throat,
and once I swallowed it,
my throat came undone.
Tomorrow, things will proceed vibrantly
and according to more reliable principles
than those which have so far
pinched the skin of the age.
At long last, a new page
in the development of the human psyche,
but what’s that it’s hiding up its sleeve?
Something sinister and pulverizing?
The latest phase of our desensitizing ritual
has given all of us a new nothing to sneeze at.
We live merely vicariously,
and that, half-assedly.
Within the alcoves of spring,
dispiriting whispers have begun to gather…
Something in the way
she moves me out of sight-mind.
It’s like perdition to my bottled heart.
A rumbling, existential fart
progresses through the stations
of the cross and into my nasal cavity.
That’s life or something.
Look it up, not down.
Admittedly, my psychological landscape
is a slum these days, so
it isn’t any wonder why
there’s rioting in the streets,
dumpsters ablaze, and shards of glass
scattered like rose petals
along the sidewalks.
TEDTalks can’t save us anymore.
My blood’s gone bad for a while.
It’s looking for a new role to fill.
Within certain limits,
all the breakable stuff
that fills the space of a life
can be organized into a suburb.
Of course, my-word-against-yours
looms above like a sinister parasol.
This is where action and reaction
coincide after all, where the heart
becomes a carnivore, where seasons
wither drastically. Time to send
my integrity to the cleaners.
I’m feeling meaner and more
nebulous than ever, dizzy
with depth, et cetera.
My abstractions silently come
to the realization that they totally
lack substance. The running joke
I aspire to be will soon outpace me.
These little sprinklings of insight
sure do sting. It’s about time
we try punching in all directions
All in all all at once.
Didn’t my last dunce cap
come with a tassel? Of course
that was before the miscreant mass
of bootlicking savants
stormed the castle
and told everybody to go home.
My home was behind
the petrified eye of my Self
reflected in the eye of a storm;
it was a long trudge, for sure,
and took up the better part
of my afternoon.
In the background, voices crowing,
oblivion bleeding through the seams…
Kind babble flows freely
and functionally from mouths
once given to whispers.
Babysitters of the world unite.
And the pinnacle of human enterprise
grows moldy midday. Why I’m not surprised
should be a worrisome prospect, I think.
Yet as I recline here, gargling ink
and casting stones, I feel not
the wet caress of fear nor
the weight of love’s dumb entreaties
pressing me into its bog.
A day worthy of remembrance,
you could say. And only be half-correct.
Expect the ordinary, but vaguely.
The lesson spelled in vomit
is gradually taking up space.
Now I submit to the pace-
maker of the cosmos.
A show of good faith, let’s say.
This diet is driving me
to lesser extremes and my dreams
are naught but reruns.
So much for the fun part.