Perched on highrises, find
by the thick skin on the thick skin of its behind
that comes off when it needs
to breed, to feed,
to bleed the oily earth for its greed,
the animal that is our kind.
Sure and secure in this pure shallowness of yours,
Keeping notions, devotions and the “right” outlook,
Eager to please the trustees, of an ancient disease,
Please! Off your knees, the guarantees are no one’s to keep.
Take not my word that your herd is absurd, but do start
Ignoring the lores, just open your doors; and I
Can vouch that every pore will explore the magic
Around, that surrounds every sound, every trivia,
Leave the spurious, be curious and one big odd-ball.
Limericks were supposed to be fun,
But I couldn’t write, not even one
That I could call perfect,
I sit back and reflect,
If this poet’s journey is all done.
In the end, you will bend your own head,
Spread the thread of unsaid thoughts instead
Of the lies you mainlined,
So astutely aligned
With the path, that you’ve chosen to tread.
Lakes, like old mirrors,
Show me the hole where those tears
Eroded my soul.
Will they be forced to live
In obscure sentences all over,
About infected sores of the heart?
Will they start to give up
And start throwing their humdrum’s
At each other, over the internet, for fun.
Or will they try to pass,
Obscure synonyms put together with tacks,
As poems; or will they hatch paperbacks.
My votes will be shittier than yours.
My youth will be angrier than yours.
My women will pop more babies than yours.
My government will be eerier than yours.
My blades will be bloodier than yours.
My fire will be smellier than yours.
I’ll get more flesh of your women and kids
than you’ll ever get of mine;
My language is purer, my land is holier
and my gods are more divine.