A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
putting down the toilet seat (post buffet ballad) all will be revealed as I go off the deep end Mission Impression part 1 From the sidelines get a good seat watch my origami unfold don’t forget to take notes my sociologist friends if you can comprehend insanity on a leash boxed like a cat grace is self-preservation on what field my performance? did you bring a drink, snack, comfy blanket? ready to be in awe? I see that dull surprise lift eyebrows fifteen-sixteenths of an inch and in a moment now mouth agape — I can’t tell if in awe or hungry. eat your snack. it may take awhile to refine this act. wait? you’re leaving? Mission Reaction part 2 I should’ve been to the point. and that would’ve been…? Can someone give me a cue how to act with you? in your houses? none have visited mine. you say something, I say something. you walk away. do I follow? information locks legs that sway, hear the chorus, repeating line, stay. stay. stay, when I want to play? getting that I can be a bit much. do you think it’s my choice? think, like I have to — be in other shoes? try walking in them. a bit big? their invented adage, not mine. unproductive. instruct my cursed DNA. information, restructure atoms, sequences so I can come back…as what? zebra, condor, polar bear, penguin? I reserve the right to not lick my junk and have access to public toilets. Might be compelled to migrate. Mission Projection part 3 not long. all my rights taken away. I love my friends who are gay, swing the other way. gender fluid could be my style. I’m beautiful, you know? yes, you know. over-employed, it has opened code-doors to a lonely, clod-foot guy. if I incorporate a sense of societal silence, segregated boundaries realized, again. pain to near. I was beautiful, blond, blue-eyed, tall — from cherub to muscled, chiseled marble white. now pigeon stained, crumbling in my Athens. I still have my art-junk — I’ll not lick clean. Onlookers point at a facade. I lied and that is wrong. does it matter to you since I’m alien to your race and ironically not in minority, so, man-child whining someone please place yourself in my Nikes? a bit much, I’m getting harder to know. Mission Unification (keep it together) part 4 insulate, isolate from perceived insult. oh, that thing flung was said with love? not giving anticipant public meltdown. too proud for that. and, I never really approached you. hope you found comfort with a good sideline seat. it’s my final act. I recoil from touch; friend or foe? I really don’t know, and I forget. and your name is…? not because I don’t want to know. afraid to love you and lose you like all the others who ask how’d you get off your leash? insist, get in an escapable box. and I wonder, can you hear as I talk, fill silence through and outside societal-constructed walls? Where is unity, your unifiers? not the spinsters. humanity taken by gun 60 years ago? of weapons, the greatest we lack — financial resource and systemic philosophies since Machiavelli to control. hypocritical inversion, satire infused. sorry, what joke is funny? do you even know the division, where I squat in kennel? world peace can bite my perfectly proportioned rump. cut through diversion from you’re wound-up mumbo-jumbo Trump. sorry if that sounds racist? who taught you to respond that? how did you get that many followers to salivate over grammatical buffoonery? your thumb reposting nation? o-kay. a bit off track. a bit? don’t mock me. I’m mocking you. I’m going to be the pest your nuclear tests cannot devastate from weighted heels of your billion stomping boots. but know, my DNA conditioned lifelong, too clever for that. zombies feeding on flesh of your mediums walk slow, can’t return love, but money from wallets, collected from demigod employers whose buddies rake it all back, because what is life but stacks of red, white and blue chips lost in the flash of this reserved, casino life. Unplanned: Coda zombies dine on a buffet of hookers. porn is bad. bran muffins are good. putting down the toilet seat now…from where I shat. 3.2.23 Originally titled — zombies need hookers you want positivity — fight for what is right. segregated, clasping others mouths shut, they divided us through social conditioning. you’re negative now, and we’re defeated. serious, you can’t see that? won’t? right, you’re busy thumbing that river of streaming whore buffet glut. you’re the devil, negative. you’re not a simpleton, just human. not positive enough. |