Max, or Not

knowledge can be such
that it becomes a crux of paradox
impairing our perceptive predilections
like an opiate

sometimes, it is preferable
to put the book down, shed our skin
and frolick in the freedom
once precedent to our wit

ere the omnipresence
of our existential burdens
depression did lay dormant
and our essence, innocent

soon we find the words
as to articulate expression
eloquently waxing
on our states of discontent

anguish and despair
may pave the path to our enlightenment
through endless eras do we toil
transposing pain to wisdom

peace of mind comes at a price
which knows no preparation
it seems once it is earned
our shells surrender to the sun

one such truth retained
within the fragments of forbearance
urges us to ne’er forget
to forge a heart most lithe

for if we are to overstate
the aspect of our relevance
we forsake our only stake
in living this, one life

this frigid air licks my spine

the unrelenting concrete siphons my only warmth

the hour rests just before dawn

today is the day

maybe the last

i will not be controlled.

if we cannot listen

nothing will be heard

until those words
transpose into perpetuity

forever ringing tragic
in our deafened ear

i suppose i once was young…

this tortuous compliance
bears no countenance

its innocence scolded

the mountain air beckons
its labor lost
of love

no longer does the shore retreat

divided by her polar pleas
steeped in what is known

and every step
a sacrifice

i swore would never seize me

entangled in her treasonous touch

where once i tread
with reason

diminished, ever more
than now

fornicators prone to procreate
are not inclined to wait
but maybe they should take a break
to contemplate the subsequent
unwitting fates affected by their urge to sate
their selfish need to sow their seed
of self-fulfilling prophecy
which is indeed, as such, contingent on their level of neglect
their lack of nurture and respect
and the forfeiture of any predilection to reflect
when they are nestled up so nicely in their self-exempting narratives
nary a shit have they to give
about the life that must be lived
because in their eyes, it’s more an extension of their awesomeness
not a valid individual whose voice heeds any consequence
which is like, why the fuck did you give birth
and why does this not bother you?
ah yes, i see, you failed to take the time
to think responsibly
and rather than owning the aftermath
of all your thoughtless actions
you find it much easier
to wilfully project them
right onto the very person who already stands to suffer
from your utter inability to think about another
there’s a grave misapprehension in regards to what is parenthood
as if it were an endeavor that was just intrinsically good
i’m like, EGAD! this shit is bad
in fact, i dare to say, the worst
there, i said it.
i’ll not be the last, if not the first

this requiem rests
on the shoulders of sorrow

tempting the bitter ledge

beating hearts fled
for its leap could ne’er reconcile

miles left untrodden

since martyrdom murdered a young man’s ideals

undone by the blind whims
of human hypocrisy

his only desire

would dissolve into daydreams

stranded on gossamer wings

with strings strumming

he sings
his abysmal heart’s phantom refrain

where the wintry rain
swallows his woeful chagrin

with two sixpence

to sate charon’s blessing

“Y” chromosome
why can you not see?

you far more resemble
a minuscule “v”

a majuscule “Y” in no way reflects
your number of genes in contrast to “X”

and certainly, size by no means does compare
as “X” is five times that of what you declare

as far as genes what have you sixty at best?
where “X” has a thousand as science attests

your content, redundant

to mutation, weak

with exacerbated rates of entropy

as long as we’ve possessed the ability
to gauge your small size you’ve been yet dwindling

why oh “Y” must you trample and pout
mother nature knows best when to take the trash out

when its primary function becomes detrimental
no time can be wasted waxing sentimental

and if you should find yourself wondering why you’ve been exed,
“Y”, some questions deserve no reply

• extremely avoidant
• aversion to phone calls
• unlikely to look into any message at all
• prone to anxiety
• penchant for privacy
• predisposition: opposed to society
• not quite so punctual
• known to procrastinate
• at times oblivious, otherwise obstinant
• occupation: caprice
• title: musical geek
• long-term goals: n/a (unless you count world peace)
• ever the optimist
• magnet for narcissists
• pardon the statement above, for it was remiss
• idealistic to a fault
• salty when comes the dawn
• arbitrarily likes to say the word “megatron”
• dubious prosody
• rife with verbosity
• derelict student of wayward philosophy
• foremost, a feminist
• forever agnostic
• wields a peerless kris resolved to lop penises
• over-obsessive mind
• male ego: left behind
• strives for a vigilant kindness (most of the time…)
• clearly, a kitty cat
• dare never question that ↑↑↑
• name: maximillian – though, laymen just call me max

 

when the hands on the clock struck twenty-five hundred
a gun did appear in my hand

i watched as smoke wafted
through god’s wincing eye

its canopy cried out rufescent

a motley procession
of soporose passers-by

gave pause
to peer into the window

like daggers,
their fingers did pierce the still air
pointing
with hushed presumptions
gleaned most indolent

my insolence dared me to breathe
but the blood was too thin

and its truth
could not answer

now it is
that i was them

a shade ahead
without a horseman

via By Her Implore- Max Meunier

 

people talk.

i’d rather not

partake of such pretense

their scornful words and sentiments
present even in silence

‘tis all too rare
to share a laugh
not hinging on the precipice

through tears tinged with inauspice

as our solipsist release

forgive my unabashed candor
sycophants have burned remiss

but once a truth is learned

no luxury can disallow its visage

lest we turn our text of tenuous humanity
to barter

it is the ardor of our unwitting machinations that strikes my heart of hearts

a ritualized recalcitrance
refuses to read between the lines

i know this, for it hearkens from the pits of my own pith’s refrain

a hypocrite as far as i am able to exist a human

unaware are we
of the power wielded by our expression

a proprietary lesson
found on mortuary floors

i have heard the ghastly whispers

wafting through these phantom walls

in the hour of ghostly ire

impervious to my behest

spilling forth from frothing lips
my sentence e’er spelled out before me

here, amid the vast cacophony
of human sanctimony