D-generation

y u gotta be so spiteful
what makes u so fucking special
where did u get the impression that ur pain precedes all others

will u ever comprehend this
reciprocity so crucial

how can u not show compassion
then proclaim ur presence precious

disregarding the existence
of extrinsic experience

u display as solipsistic

sentiments supposed as disparate

who r u 2 demand redress
what makes u feel so entitled

pray that i should perchance take pause
proving but paradoxical
in this specious supplication

lo, perhaps ’tis my perception
as per this pathetic prosy

i recall, colloquial affect
most acutely loquacious

drastic is this dichotomy

gen-x 2 anachronistic

. . . what was my point 2 begin with?

ah, yes, 2 squander the moment

(listens) . . .

“y u masochistic?”

and this, quittance of comeuppance

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jesus’ jalopy

Jesus thinks he’s jazzy
jettin’ ’round in his jalopy

with a heapin’ splash of High-Karate
Pageboy locks and sock-like bulge

kafkaesque by all accounts

wrecks resurrected
from the junkyard

rolls in dirt & grease

then acts indignant
when we call him out

and lately

he’s been sporting those archaic perforated jerseys
cut to frame his rippling midfriff

think i’m joking?
scope his new jean jacket

lo, i jest ye not
that shit’s bejeweled

it’s best that we let him down gently
judge him not
though he has sinned

for what is Jesus to us
but a reference point
prone to revisions

made to grade our tragic states
of ethical ineptitude

if we were to face the fundamental facts
based on our actions

Jesus would be turning fast
within his human grave

henceforth, i do decree
that we observe his truths
sans private faction

banish institutions he himself would deem so dubious

if Jesus should become unhinged

we, as his peers
shall be his jury

by vigilante justice rule

it is our job
to save his soul

pray God, forgo those reparations

looming nigh o’er our hung heads

for if we are to shed our earnings
into wayward wicker baskets

i propound, that only Jesus merits his own private jet

 

ode to existential homeostasis

i tried to explain

but my brain
took a powder

a clowder of kittens commenced

my tongue they did stay

not a word could escape

and i was thus denied
recompense

for the dolor accrued
solely by the accord
of a vapid world
duly intent

to inflict its grave wrath
on this perilous path

with a virulent vigor
no less

a curse, by all means
self-averse
it would seem

a somatic wrest rightly ensued

knowing not what to do
i bid what i had done

as the sun gaily did
run me through

there, i said
in dismay

at the closing of day

neath a langorous lull
of lament

whence yore languid
i laid

in a pool of malaise

ever moored
to a fate somnolous

All Things, Arbitrary

if i fall
from this earth

would it suffer
me, no longer

if consciousness will sing

amid the ashen dawn
adrift

to lay
this latent life

upon the lei lines
once asunder

would then prayer prove its purpose

for what conscience
beckons nigh

as fools

who feign forgiveness

or the martyr’s stoic stance

hanging ropes

hope
loosely fastened

by two ends
reflecting truth

spending endless realms of interim

in morass
contrived of morals

with vociferous intentions

as a madness
slow-ensues

through our youth
now
ever squandered

by the fate of hollow fears

in the absence
of the here

and never morrow