Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Bad Poem

God had a stroke tonight
…as he sat on his throne
Miller Light in one hand
This poem in the other.
Satan called me
once he heard the news

“J, you’re wicked”
I laughed
“Lucifer ole’ boy I already knew.”

Because this is the kind of poem
I begin at 3:09 am.
And finish at 3:13.
The kind
That spits in his mothers face.
A bad-bastard poem
With no daddy to knock
Sense into it.

It’s a poem about
A Colonel
Fucking a virgin
In the middle of a war
that’s fighting
For freedom from
Something that
Everybody has already forgotten
But it keeps on fighting because
Pride and Glory now drive
This poem hard
Into its rebellion.

Its about more than Me
And my sinful nature,
But about Rosa , Cindy and Stephanie
Girls who were too fast too soon
And told me about hard dicks
While we hid in high school restrooms.
While my eyes -wide open-
Memorized what it was
That drove men to pay so much attention
They felt they need to
Enter
Me.

This poem is about all I wont be,
Jesus never was,
And every other god
Claims They will become.

Salvation

From the monotony of good behavior
Tranquil smiles
Hollow faces.

Liberation

From conformity with prolonged gratification
Sanity
Silence.

It’s the Advocate
For Anarchy
Wild wicked nights
Where we sin
Without giving a damn

Sending Satan
Himself packing
Because
This poem
Killed God
And every other
Pretense of control.

And
Damn it
In Four Minutes
I finally wrote the piece
That freed us all.

Because this poem
Says the truth
We are all afraid of

The truth that we Humans, don’t seek peace
But reasons to feel the weakness of our flesh
To remind us why we live. Why we wish. Push. Love. Need. Ache. Hate.
Why we sin day and day again and pound our chests and
Drag these chains we’ve tied around our waists.

Feeling. Feeling. Feeling. Our way in the darkness of our flesh.

Let God claim his beers throne and stroke!

Because his coveted
Mortality is ours

And in it, Like this poem,

We are splendid and beautiful
in our hard earned damnation.

No comments:

Post a Comment