Stop or I Lop It

there should really be
some kind of
penis purgatory

for the expiation
of this appalling appendage

and its plethora
of perpetual perpetrations

imposing an impotence
permanent

for its presumed
omnipotence

propelled by a petulance
spurred by its misapprehension
of perceived deprivations
and supplantation
of its deepest paranoia
pending inconsequence
and subsequent need
for incessant placation
from people abound

i submit
that penis is synonymous
with the id of male ego

from pliable pink-tipped inadequacy

to piercing impale of pleasantries forgone

poking
and prodding
sans any apology

haplessly trodding
on that which it pleases
for self-validation
of urges capricious

a paragon
of base instant gratification

to which true compassion
opposes emphatically

no more pitching of tents
no more focal points fixed on dubious bulges
no more pencils in pockets
no more untoward questions
as to whether or not
they’re just happy to see us

no more furtive pocket pool
people can see what you’re doing there
unimpressed
and worse, terrified

no conquest-driven instantaneous detachment
metaphorically speaking
but don’t you dare think
that i won’t just detach it

no more of this daunting affront to humanity
“flaunting” the threat of barbarian legacy

no more judging scant leaflets
by filigreed covers

true power is only attained
through self-discipline
nothing is gained through tyranny
save for misery

only the weakest
feel compelled to subjugate

please cover that hideous thing up already
the neighbors will think you a despot irrelevant
vying for dominance

pitifully plying for lauding opinions
from cowed Stockholm audiences fast seeking exit

look, we all get it
you need to be worshipped

just try to remember
that nobody gives a shit

take your sexist expectations
home to your bed

ruminate long and hard
until this truth gets through to your heads

Aberrant Sundays

Sunday morning sadists
sing discordant of their greatest sin
a stinging ricochet meets copper
in leather-bound summation of insidious domain

stifling sun of sordid swelter
writhing in self-flagellation
rising welts on skin born sacred

words belie the skies afire
irony left to the gallows
sworn in blood wine
bread of flesh
and symbolic disparity

all the passion reappears
when draped in ire
trapped in painted windows
tainted scenes of glass stained tragic
framed above the haloed heathens

listless martyr ever-looming
unrelenting sting of stigma
fingers crossed in accusation
pointing toward our innate state

of human beings being human

and then to see such opulence
flaunted about so garishly
attached to hands soliciting alms
from desperate indigents in worship

shameful exploitation stretching far beyond reproach
as the spoils of their devout extortion
are soon transposed to golden thread
to sew the splitting seams of pockets brimful

dismal are the dreams fixated on barren subsistence

what is reaped are mindsets of maniacal indoctrination
self-fulfilled by fearful deluge
ethical paralysis of covert imparting
compromising our capacity to comprehend
the consequences of our actions

framing death as moral answer
sacrifice of so called “soul”
a sentence served of self-inflicting
orchestrated by a savior
intrinsically born of usurping
based on baneful male womb-envy
guiding men with egos fragile

terminally compensating
gravely vying for control
through brazen claims of self-appointing
pathological presumption

placating their perceived lacking
tactless hordes of form barbaric
storm the streets to spread their poison
pious perpetrators of a violence unprecedented

viciously conniving for a self-sought absolution
through the veil of our avowal
of their never-ending avarice

they gaily flaunt before our faces
wonted are we to submit
and worse

to serve as known accomplice

Sunday morning moral comeuppance
plundering our forlorn plight
frightful death and heaven’s scorn
adorn the good book’s turning pages

if there still remained even a shred
of our humanity
it would be the first thing

we would burn

[image credit: Frank C. Pape]

Pathos of Recalcitrance

of course i lie
i’m only human

that aside, one sick of liars
i can justify my libel
yours, i dare not ponder freely

far beyond this ten-foot pole

your willful words of skillful squander
dangle at aberrant angles
fraught with such finagled ire

were that i could only trust you
unlike me, your ship has sailed
destined for abhorrent harbor
drowned in ardor so reviled

solely, to the death, indignant
figments framed as picture-perfect
truth absconded, lost in the morass

endless grabs for abstract fragments
stabbing blindly at the dark
puzzles pieced extemporarily
tenuously strung as art

how you manage without tire
mystifies the misled mind
wandering through gaslit tunnels

taciturn, you spurn the last
this pathos of recalcitrance
sits pithless to the bitter end

[image credit: J.W. Fores]

Scopolamine Politics

politics are a deplorable pastime
comprised of deceit, propaganda, and tyranny
bands of backhanded obsequious sycophants
falsely commanding our homelands through villainy

such disingenuousness is repugnant
a word i purloined from a Garbage Pail Kid
that those so disgraceful could be so indignant
in light of the scandalous things that they did

and they did, you better believe that shit’s true
and like pawns we allow it through cognitive bias
it sickens me to imagine me and you
enabling all these notorious liars

but they are proactive in their preparation
by keeping the public sect preoccupied
with such utterly insignificant refuse
which fools are so feverishly wont to abide

the power they brandish is born of the weakness
that people succumb to which works without fail
beholden to spurious trappings of ego
nefarious plots regularly prevail

meanwhile, as poverty levels are peaking
privileged white men mendaciously collude
sheepishly ploying whilst safely partitioned
the subjects of their subjugation, subdued

with media pandering disinformation
to desperate masses as malleable as clay
susceptible to psychological swaying
while of the impression they have any say!

and then there are those of religious-borne zealotry
doggedly-obstinate, self-righteous drones
so all-consumed by their fervid delusions
they willfully wreak what cannot be atoned

supinely supplying their supplicant services
ready to die in the name of their god
devoted to repopulating the planet
by heedlessly spreading their seed’s bane abroad

religion and politics closely relate
in that they both facilitate social disparity
granting the breadth of wealth, knowledge, and power
to less than one fucking percent of humanity!

if such things sit well with you, be on your way
for i haven’t the time to expend on futility
i won’t commit to conferring with crusaders
hell-bent on exacting hell-borne realities

 

 

[image credit: Unknown]

Measures More Than Justified

i swear to you
if one more fucking ant crawls on me
i will lose it

what the fuck
has led them here
i haven’t any food to forage

where the fuck
could they have come from
and why will they not go away

how the fuck
has this become the state
of my reality

every step i take
to rid my humble home
of their invasion

somehow summons twice as many
more determined than before

jesus fucking christ
it’s just an ant
how then could it have wrapped
its tiny jaws around my flesh
with such a force for me to feel it

i am but a pacifist at heart
but this incessant onslaught
pesters me beyond the point
of patience and composed demeanor

fuck, i’ll just be honest
their assault has taken quite a toll
i’m hesitant to tell you
of the murderous thoughts
in my head

if not that, then suicide
is fast becoming ever likely
of course, then they would dine upon
my listless corpse
and i won’t have it

even if i stood for hours
smashing every one that came
they would keep appearing
in exacerbated states of ardor

maybe if i went online
to search for homemade bomb instructions
i could build one big enough
to halt their heedless hordes

last time, when i took such measures
all was said and done
no sweat
granted, at that time the circumstances
were far less horrific

it was just a wayward group
of eight jehova’s witnesses
they refused to leave me be
oh yeah, and then those missionaries
mailmen, and that meter reader

let me get back to my point
this siege will not allow for nonsense

since you asked
the answer’s no
i’m not concerned with my new neighbors
church of scientology
whatever in the flying fuck it was they called it

all i really care about
is blowing up those fucking ants
if it should happen others perish
so be it
i can’t be bothered
really

that’s on them
that they were living
as much as it is for their death

shit, i wouldn’t be surprised
if they had been responsible
for sending all these ants to get me
for some fiendishly clandestine reason

oh my fucking god
it’s true
and now i’ve got more work to do

those bastard scientologists
are going to have a blast
and much like it was in the past

i will be the last one standing
bellowing the biggest laugh

Welp, Groomed

a kitty cat’s grooming is always suspicious
this truth i have analyzed over the years
the agony of aggregate clumps cilicious
alludes to an aeluroid aspect most queer

consider the context of when they commence
and a pattern conspicuous soon is revealed
as subsequent to an embarrassing moment
they feign nonchalance as a means to conceal

which is quite ironic, for as we all know
cats are nothing if not the vanguards of aloofness
yet, somehow they are so acutely self-conscious
regarding their state of inferable smoothness

of course, this technique is applied other places
like when you so heedlessly trample right past them
the shock and appall of an affront so tasteless
will spur such a groom nearing self-mutilation

and don’t you dare think to presume consolation
for all of your pleas stand to fall on deaf fur
their tail tells the tale of availed indignation
no chin scratch on earth could elicit a purr

on some rare occasions, debris might affix
to their feline in such a way barring removal
in these times their grooming airs slow and deliberate
as they give their all to appear as though casual

at times i have pondered, if not for their shame
would not their fine coats fall into disrepair
it’s fortunate that we stand only to gain
when cats most emphatically feign not to care