The dream of every cell is to become two cells.
O eyes, I gouge you blind
O ears, I prick your resonate drums with rusty needles
O nose, I plug your oozy channels with pitch and gum
O tongue, I scrape the buds from off your soggy back
And you, exasperating nerves:
I deaden you with mercury, arsenic & lead
And so with sightless eyes
And soundless ears
And scentless nose
And tasteless tongue
I direct my anesthetized gaze out at the world:
Savouring the spastic sputterings
Spewed forth by these most senseless of receptors
And to bring my purposelessness to a close
I will engage an accomplice
(Whom I’ve instructed earlier)
To sever my genitals, balls and all
Dispassionate fate, I throw down the gauntlet:
Explain this sorry wad of flesh, blood, fat & bone!
Explain the one who snubs the hypocrisy of your mechanical imperative!
Follow me, I’m no God at this. I can’t write black. I’m overbred, you’re better. I can’t say I sought your tone. I haven’t the length to pen the trope. Stale is more than enough for this boor. Your bandstand is ineffable. Your coastguards were beheaded. Your pet bear is sloshed. You’ve lent me many a documentary, but they’ve yet to teach me anything. The service delivered but I’ve never had my package tied. I regret to say I’m unable to recognize your unpossessed empires. I didn’t catch the look you bent. Anyway, my commuter has stalled. Now I’m unable to pass turds. I’m buffer than Anastasia. I’ve just turned key-lime into diarrhea. Don’t you get a kick out of my yacht? Which hell do men die? I forgot what I was going to pay. I still can’t find a pan that wrecks and then I shake my pen still. You know what a farce rape is these days. I admit I haven’t been riding my unicycle. Time never seems to have time for what I need. I’m all out of slippery bogs to put the cold pews in. I didn’t get the memorial. I want to lick the bonbons. I’ve never had a pale tit. I couldn’t get the sickly door to work, so I called. I went from A to Z with a witty scamp. If I could only get back to waiting, then I’d catch the easy train. When Ra oped mine eyes I got on famously like an unplugged brook.
The problem with poetry that it’s not
just anyone who can afford the time
to flit about in fancy and bumptious rhyme.
Not with all the pending projects and reports and contracts meetings and deals networking research with subsequent analyses marketing mergers layoffs (downsizings) powerpoint presentations objectives functions audits projections (not to mention daytime fantasies involving manager janet of the beautiful calves) brainstorming sessions spreadsheets miscellaneous operations and of course The Product (whether sold or bought).
And so it comes to pass that certain souls will forever remain poetically unthought.