Poem: Author!

It’s life is our pessimism, flowing from the roots

up, until it makes a river, blood and bile, marrow and semen

flowing its life down

every embankment, in every divot

we planted without forethought, retracting

we are from the consequences

infinitely fracturing, bigger and bigger than bigger

until I can’t breathe, realizing it’s effect was more

in time than I could bear, it was what I marked on the card

at the speed-dating lecture, is what it felt like

reminding me of college like a boner

sitting in a room of your peers, looking at the ground

until you live in the hole you bore with your eyes.

 

Definitely through the day and whatever

hell will come, eventually a shining pegasus

will scorch the air, you’ll be baked and sizzled,

to speak bluntly, but you’re wrong and have been

for some time, that shining is a heaven

sent perfume, a spiritual smog, like a fog

thick and matted, but finally cuts the knowledge

that you’re an idiot,

undoubtedly, to know that the love lies

within, and if you find it in your everyday, you are the one

to survive the cataclysm, just wear a t-shirt and cheer

for nothing.

 

But I suppose I would if I could

is a sentiment that really means something, I would

undoubtedly, but it means nothing

so what would I care?  It is a stupid word

used by the rich, leisured and elite

like the vikings, they realized that truth is better

than poetry, because truth is understood

in your bones and your blood, if you clarify

the word fog, here at the end, for no purpose

do I write like this, because what matters is

what you think, not the author

and his big dick

Poem: Author!

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