Upon Consideration . . .

fuck you
for the thought you’re thinking

fuck your epic pompadour

fuck that smug look
on your fuck face

fuck your doppelganger dog

fuck your every breath you breathe

fuck whatever makes you happy

fuck the way your clothing fits you

fuck the timbre of your voice

fuck anyone desperate
or dumb enough to fall for your shit

fuck you
for not being bothered
by the fact that you’re a prick

fuck your “soul patch”
fuck your soul
fuck your lack thereof
fuck no

fuck the way your mouth moves
every time you make an utterance

fuck your feigned gesticulations

fuck you
just because

fuck the fact that you perceive
yourself as being above others

fuck your lack of self-awareness

fuck the way you mistreat women

fuck your racist undertones
you always try to justify

fuck your privilege
being of a magnitude superlative

fuck your pompous
omnipresent omnipotent arrogance

fuck your vapid elocution
fuck you for always guffawing

fuck your predisposed conclusions

fuck you for wearing “cologne”

fuck you for making me smell you

fuck your insincerity
fuck your insecurity
fuck your lack of verity
fuck your duplicitous nature

fuck you because “~Dashers, Dashers~”

fuck your fucking sweater-vests

fuck you for even existing

fuck you for not remedying it

fuck your parents
fuck theirs too

fuck them all
for never caring

wait a fucking minute, dude –

you too
were neglected

under slightly different circumstances

nonetheless

life had not afforded you
the proper chances

for the record
fuck my hypocritical
lapse in discretion

leading me to perpetrate
a most impetuous transgression

if you would excuse
my hideous affront to civil discourse

mayhaps you and i
could be the source
of one another’s recourse

[image credit: František Kobliha]

Promised Hours

why is it
that only upon leaving
do you voice
lament

fleeting amid
sentiments
and sudden
things to do

promised hours
perish
in a flash
of wistful
alley light

scarce
your words
remain
as token trials of hope
since lost

hanging in denial
are faded smiles
and fusty
mothballed coats

in the closet
strung like latent
trysts
listless
and long forgotten

“Choices”

no woman chooses.

the word “choice”
is a quaint affectation
of male privilege

one that shifts
the burden
onto the woman’s shoulders

with a simple
single syllable
of sinister
silver-tongue

that speaks volumes
of the depraved disconnect
of daddy’s deflection

defecting

neglecting

such wretched
subjection

to misogynist mindsets
that fret
at any hint
shown to impede
its quest for glory

its aweless reverie

of his requisite bequest

that rests for no burden
not even those wrought
by its own wanton hands

with nary a thought

for the “choice”
lies with man

to own up to his deeds
to reap what was sown
beyond his own base needs

choosing not to desert
to then foster a trust
that would honor what is just

by accepting
the circumstance born
of his lust

he must stand tall supinely
to shatter all doubt
in the matters regarding
the wrath of his route

for women most oft
are forever distraught

abandoned
bereft
left exploited
with naught

whilst these men prance
with ease
frolicking fancy-free
fleeing scene
with the breeze
having sown their ill-seed

for their ego
surpasses all
with such vomitous gall
as a life is forestalled

ne’er to answer the call
so appalling this trait
leaving life in its wake
only flight will he take
once his whim has been slaked
without further adieu
in a cloud of hot dust
and a fervid salute
served most proud and abrupt
rendering hearts nonplussed
like a billowing gust
once his will has been thrust
turns militantly brusque
with such fierce flippancy
throws all under the bus
in a thunderous peal
it’s a wonder surreal
as the moment reveals
what his true heart conceals

but there is no appeal
to that which cannot feel
so this dastardly deal
is so masterfully sealed
as a bastard is reared
in a fluster of tears
with a father not there
never bothered to care
not a moment to spare
to prevent all the fears
wrought by scrutinous stares
lurid thoughts turpid lots
from a surrogate’s leer
innocence left defenseless
for reasons so senseless
a treasonous pretense
to heathens demented

still lacking incentive
to try to prevent this
fate of such portending
consequence unending
of futures surrendered
no suture could mend
ill-repute so contentious
yet still men dispute
and refute their subjection
and all for the sake
of their putrid compulsions
so duly revulsing
profanely effusive
the lives left behind
are not those
which they must live
and thus it is a shit
for which they do not give
so willing to forfeit
the world they created
but for a mere moment
of fleeting amusement
that spurns an entire
existence
so uselessly
suffered for naught
and for what
but their ego’s
egregious gestalt

Answer: Ego

why must our presence

present as pendulous peril

perpetually passing

between plausible purpose

and predisposed plight

prolonging pandemonium

to placate pedestrian pedantry

perpetrated by apathetic progenitors

to please their pathetically primitive

predilection for perpetuant personal prospect

through perfunctory procreation

parsimoniously placing province

and perdurable pain

on the passively plucked

personifications

of their phantom permanence?

 

 

 

[image credit: Vittorio Zecchin]