Suppose it will all erupt
at some point or other
then all of this was futile a means
to an already achieved end
and the ending is not contingent
on whether I do or don’t or
have or have not but rather
if I am still here when the
matter of it consolidates enough
to grant me its grace.
No laughing matter
when the cup is brimming with
water blood and
marrow from early desecrated
bones that I cracked from
ribs of my own unraveling
the top down fury from
those bottle necked bastards
who elected me to enact it all
anyway. There is often an
empty place for suffering in
this skin a room open for
me when I choose to occupy it
and from there it all returns
those sacrosanct wishes
dreams beliefs etc.
whose frequency is
often so ambient and imperceptible
I can’t even hear it through my AirPods
so instead, I build walls
of baked clay
and blast them with sound for
a single millennia until there is a
crack in the foundation. Maybe in
this life I am not meant to be happy
or maybe in this life the sea
does not part so in the next
one the mosaics composing
these many catastrophes are
permissible and ascribe some
meaning to the virtue
we are creating daily within our
hands. To recreate the world
nearly everyday I am tired of meat-grinders
everywhere chewing on my words
only to produce a narrativized version
of my own history that is entirely
indiscernible even for myself.
If the Fat Lady sang tonight
and into darkness we commenced
I might be happy but if I wake
to see the Fat Lady, too I will
make myself impervious
to the rains point them
to the source of my fury
and have them quell the fires
and riotous outpouring of
my underbelly and I should
try to tile the floor
of these new quarters
and clean them weekly
with Walmart paraphernalia
and unlike Orpheus
I won’t crane my fattened neck
to see the world as it left me
or see You as You left me
mangled, under a winter’s
umbrella of mysticism and
play-dates, pony bottles
of gasoline lacking all momentum
threatening a fire that could
never be stoked.
The entropic tendency of this here and
now won’t last at least it cannot,
now clearing the final steps of the temple
there is grace granted to those who
at least offer grace in return
instead of desecrating the
images only to construct them anew,
nonetheless the walls shatter with
forces unknown even to Nature,
I’ll shatter my Tesla driving
through those already collapsed walls
seats reclined with an audiobook on
repeat I’m going to take
over the world before I’ve even built it.
Eleventh PIG