Transposing

holding on
with humbled heart
the hills succumbed
before me

raging
like the devil’s hearth
the earth
left drab and scorched

once
while perched
atop these peaks
a piece of me
quietly departed

unaware
until descent
the direness
of this spiraled dream

e’er i shall
endure its depths
as death reigns long
in sorrowed rain

this fallow ground
on which i stand
alluring
with its thoughts
impure

now conjuring
a new entreaty

beading
upon burdened brow

the briars
of ambrosia

tortured truths
remain
untouched

as tempest
tramples all terrain

and virtue
proven
unavailing

sovereignty
disavowed

our souls
denied
a savior

though Nature gasps
in ashen breaths

her song persists
transposed

[image credit: Milton Avery]

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

Preoccupation

to have arrived
is to die

I have since
surrounded myself
with cut-out cardboard
reconfigured with no particular preference

staples and tape

to ward off the hatred

a color completely devoid
of vindictiveness

the windowless model is quite suitable

for I have not the time
to look up
and ahead

I am far too caught-up
in this whole “being dead” thing

oh, what a dreadful façade

[image credit: Jan Toorop]

Symmetry

the paradox of a promise
one cannot hold

known so well

ask not why

anxiously fleeing
leaden clouds
of dusted wake

and coerced ruination

blanketing
the black horizon

heaven, pray forgive me

nothing

but the bleakest silence
can allay these blighted days

tempting the mirrored gate

it reveals

that it is time

[image credit: Pablo Picasso]

Forever Fraught

my predilection toward effusion
may dismay those not departed
cause affront to taste’s convention
leave apologists half-hearted

warrant thrashings deemed most sound
even by standards presumed modest
instigate revolt profound
and draw the ire of known Jihadists

nonetheless, i persevere
for this is all i have to offer
even if it sparks despair
in devotees of Geoffrey Chaucer

some will find my manner trying
some think it obsequious
those astute are found descrying
how i air somniloquous

their opinions might be worthy
to those of aesthetic merit
but thou must understand, surely
that i am not wont to hear it

therefore, i shall e’er regale thee
with this vomitous onslaught
at a frequency seen daily
leaving thee forever fraught

 

[image credit: Louis Wain]

Leave Me Be

people who talk shit
through channels indirect
should shut the fuck up

airing every grievance
to their panels
of pathetic suck-ups

predisposed to pandering
and duplicitous deviation

narratives composed
through soporose imposed
indoctrinations

lacking amygdalic function
calculating false intentions

leaving all to wallow
in their wake
of cowardice convention

wrested by their deepest fears
projected onto those unwitting

passively divulging virulent afflictions
of their bidding

so consumed
with self-obsessive thoughts
of presumed indignation

paranoia, slights inferred,
and fantasized alienation

if their focus
for one second
could be placed upon another

then perhaps
a brave new world of empathy
they might discover

balancing
their drastically askew sense
of the world around them

silencing
the insidious slew
of wasteful swill unfounded

sadly what is most likely
is their continued wrath
unleashed

upon innocent victims
who remain unsure
of what they speak

it’s true i am a pacifist
and yet, i feel
a strong compulsion

to remove their flesh
and banish them
to exile in my dungeon

yes, i have a dungeon
there’s no need to act incredulously

where would you expect me to imprison those who disobey me

now you think i’m crazy
i can tell
just by your nervous laughter

whatever, just get the fuck out of my way
or else, i’ll have to
show you just how crazy that i am
and you don’t want to see that

my advice to you
is leave me be
so i can cuddle my cat

[image credit: Louis Wain]