Poem: Apocalypse

Shit

is was and will forever remain

fucked up, man seriously, all the airheads

blather in their sunken barges, the worst, most evil

seduction cast over the world like a zombie

apocalypse manifest, written

down.

Not a manifesto but a plan

of action written next to the numbers on maps

with colors and shapes, it will describe what’s about to happen

where there is no hero, probably, so things appear

as you scale it over again.

Don’t

underestimate yourself

this time, or you could reconsider your position

terminated with extreme prejudice, like misogyny of course

if the charge justified, you can war in your way

while standing alone

can’t.

So allies called respond

with a flash, separating heads into fading shapes

rotating slow, or so I wish, all we get is bullhorn honking

the return of what lingers, echoing from evil mirror

tactics, we aren’t innocent.

None

is the solution we come upon

feasible functioning, or farcically felonious for us all

open prostrate, catalog of orders immoral, Randian Objectivism

is the key potentially now, as what’s to gain drunken

permanently watching the door

lock.

Poem: Apocalypse

Poem: Election Day

Clear we are like like the sound

of singeing blades, through the tapestry

of life’s rich and poor, all are victims

all of us, simply, though there can be others

undoubtedly, steady philosophically, probably

reasonable, but who could tell with Ayn Rand

rousting people, because she grew

in extremes of injustice and horror, which arose because people know

their place, in the scheme of things

considered in wartime, but then they rejoice in joining

humanity’s final war, to join the elite.

 

The end of the world will not be supernatural,

it will take decades

beginning tonight, maybe.

 

Que sera sera, as they say

Poem: Election Day