Your
Radical Ideas about
Capitalism as a Method for
Social Control Have Already Occurred to
Others
I got a
letter today
Posthumously
Post-humanly
Postage due
From
God,
Andy Worhol, my
Dad,
Marlboro Man,
L. Ron Hubbard,
Yul Brenner, Whoever
It said, “
We’re kicking you out of the Borg.”
Well, I said, that’s nice. Lemme know when the
paperwork is done
You see, it’s because I’m tired . . .
Of living
I’m tired of living a life measured out for me
In some type of
spoon or another
Where I have two choices:
For death Against life
Thanks for making that decision for me, can you make some more.
What
God(s)/
Goddess(es) should I
worship?
Tell me what I think is beautiful, make my only urge to sleep with
random ______
I define
beauty in my Love’s image,
An image of smiles, which we know will create lines,
As
crow’s feet in perfect
beaches.
Fossils in a
volcano of happiness
I’m unwilling to redefine it into beauty as
An image of
indifference,
Slack unconscious unaware
So, can you do it for me.
I like my women like I like my coffee, murky and bitter, single serving only
And I know that can’t be right!
Give me my
women like I know I should like them, in a
plastic cup,
Exchange
quantity for
quality.
I am Jack’s bisected sense of masculinity.
I am Jack’s subincised sense of humanity.
Whatever. I’m tired, I’m tired of doing
comedy
I’m tired of you smiling with your
heroin look of indifference
Lips slightly parted like a
pinup girl
an impaled
butterfly
Your
smugness, your
complacence.
And I’m tired of you asking me what am I doing in your
store,
I’m just trying to figure out
what you’re selling.
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Danlowlite's Poems