A Canto of Rant and Lament for 21st Century Leftovers in a Post-unmodern modernists fridge
I am the mute deaf blind younger old person
Of the opposite sex who is more or less
Educated than you are
And holds bad or good religious
Political social opinions. So let’s step into the tub together, shall we?:
The human condition[er] conjoins drastic [sham]poos on split ends of the dynamically lobed—it is the Judgment day for bad hair. The bottom is draining.. We are behind half-steps
The evolution that could help us through confessions of diagnostics of savings
From oblivion …
In lounge hall life and sums of good movies do we forget
The D{ivorce}bomb that dudded nuclear fami(lies)…
“Hey Johnny, pass the musical fruit—uh, yeah, the beans!”
I will try not to show {off} and tell the game of charade about our
Planet of the Ap{olo}gist]es.
There is a ton of wanton candy wrappers
Oscillating in pop-up camper credo..
By pecking order they croon and brood a callus hubbub.
Prudes playing computer simulations of life 10 hours a day really helps them appreciate
The finer hind of the seamless middle.
But Hey!
What tribal custom is this!?
What {mess]ianic prophecy?..
This force-fed cock and bull
Survival of the unhappiest/ ;
One must remember to lace the polyester underwear
While waiting for epiphany,
Or seek watershed in a raincoat…
Freedom does exist at one’s lei[sure]ly
Convenience
Store.
Everybody’s tired of living in the dumps--
So find faith in a fully stocked freezer.
Yes, it all of it riles dredge and hocks lugees upon phlox sprouts birthing love under belly-aching stars and lovers intertwined whining bliss…
Ahh go to the library and get a room!
Real relief is breathing voodoo know-how, taking people’s word for it in
A pro(cess)-pool of trial and t{error}..
Denial of will power luck hock and pluck..
Put the kibosh on! Technology only complicates primitive psychology;
Topless bar patrons get drenched on stormy days..
—Oh the frat boys come and go
Talking of
Paris Hilton’s video.
I don’t don’t don’t know if we can make it (confession).
II
Elegy Written in a CountryPenitentiary For Martha Stewart:
. . . These walls do not adesigner paradise make
So don’t bend over for the louffa
My dear strumpet—surely there lurks in drab manila some barista behind bars!
Lose the curls! Taste the egg through the shell! And think not of Hell--
Only the bare minimal it takes for a semblance of a chance.
Minutiae Fate Genetics The Will of God Determines Every Detail of Choice
Posers need insider-info on finders-keepers losers-weepers..
Against a ditty of wind-up conscience
The sheetrock of your beliefs has folded
Upon the ignorance of a 2X4 grief.
Yet ditties sung from the corner echo impossible amplitudes as a detached fixation of walky-talky hope.
‘Slammer’ is just a bad architecture idea—the lesson is. . And plow your
Alcatrazian garden with a toothpick!
iii
Ode to a Grecianmovie starring Brad Pitt:
Duh, credit cards are destroying
Western Civilization!
And TV is the other parent!
There are more and more people
Who love war more than boredom (me 2)
While the heavens are one fantastic
Light emitting device.
What’s wrong with the world?
They say a pound of an ounce
Of intention leaves quite an indention--
In the ground for a sizable coffin.
In the Turret of fondness,
The heart is a squishy
Motherboard of
Flimsy circuits.
Pheses
Antipheses
Synpheses
*Martin Luther stuck 95 of those to the hatch!
—without latex gloves!
But enough of the potty stupor.
You are not a[lone{r}]…
IV
Epic For a Comprehensive Therapy Hairpiece:
Aside from the blotchy skin and bad teeth,
He/she/thing was a fairly above average
Shmo when it didn’t eat cookies
For lunch, during break
As a 7 ½ hour shift working temp.
Look through others’ suns,
Go a mile in their diapers,
Try not to commercialize each other
To death.
Heroes are supposed to immerse
In infernal pests, shake off slugs and termites,
And manage to be the guy who doesn’t park
At the end of the lot and
Walks and walks…
The picante Freon of any place
With no population control
Read in fine print
From a shanty’s
Satellite dish
Cannot feel
Soylent e(motions.
God is not dead,
He’s just in bed snorin’,
He awoke, bumped his head on Hiroshima..
(And too much Naga[saki] last night)
And couldn’t get up in the Morning.
5
What plot in theme in style in context in poetic hot tubs
Could of bolemnic purpose guile
To miss the abysmal
Bloating of belly-up
Clear-cut agony?
Ponder stitches in time, drink wine,
And know that Art
Is the
Lowest common denominator for resurrecting
For keeping the top spinning.