Do tell us
your rare experiences.
Make it all about you.
The colors you beheld,
the love you lost,
the torment you possess...
tell us all about it.
Hallow
your shallow
suffering
(and ours as well).
You're damned and doomed.
Your soul's not saved.
Virtue-signal all you want...
the road to Folly, fully paved
is Fool's Gold gleaming all the way.
Virtue's valiant vanguard, you...
the banner of surrender waved;
Facebook-friendly memes of mention
pointing to your selfish cause:
socially just desserts. Attention
paid to certain liberal flaws.
Virtue-signalling to the flock
gesturing, gesticulating;
hieroglyphics of deceit.
You're up for take-down, ours to mock,
bleating to your followers, prating—
well-assured in your conceit.
cerebral diarrhea
versus verborrhea
unpunctuated disequilibrium
generates opprobrium
unfree verse
fettered or worse
verbal vomit:
bomb it.
confessional purgings
depressional urgings
emo-bingeing over unrequited love
makes this poet go off / out / above
hinting at hitting on
intersectional hinterlands
intersexual undercourse
underpar for underwear
off-course, of course
interCIS sissiness interests
rests a cisgender-ender
genders endanger engendering
male delivery of femaleman
chain letters in chain-mail maelstrom
higher matriarchy of the mail-room
hire patriarchal malarkey
good knight
and good luck.
Proud lady, thou hast blocked me fair
I cannot read nor comment on it.
You closed the entrance to your lair...
but I'm still working on your sonnet.
I've got no interest in bungeejumping.
I've got no interest in seeing Venice.
I've got no interest in niteclubbing.
& I must be in zen coz I don't care
what zen is.
I've got no interest in winning Euromillions.
I've got no interest in what the Donald said next.
I've got no interest in signing another e-petition.
Or why Sleb Y slighted Sleb X.
I've got no interest in New Yoik in the spring.
I've got no interest in Rothschilds' Beelzebunce.
I've got no interest in silly season 2nd Coming
- you wait ages for 1, then 3 messiahs
arrive at once!
I've got no interest in bumblebee extinction.
I've got no interest in major sports events.
I've got no interest in twitterstorm friction.
Or infomercials on how to get hench.
Got no interest in batrachomyomachy,
or in proxy batrachomyomachy
between Frog League's galanty spider army
& mice-trained & funded earwig insurgency.
Who'll win Strictly, who'll win Syria?
What really goes down in the Ministry
of the Interior?
Does myriad of Miriams mean the more the myria?
Will readers ever eyebibe my biblia abiblia?
Apathy? Yeah. No. Me?
Does Ray Mears shit in the woods?
2 fingers 'stead of 2 hoots? Is oldschooltie
of Pope Emeritus Devil Dog Hitler Youth?
Like comeback cul-de-sac of Sigue Sigue
Sputnik or Gay Dad, conclusion's foregone:
from all globallocks infer good Earth stravaiged,
testicularcancer twin planet to us abandoned.
When it comes to thinking 'bout anything but my baby...
now Marvin's murdered by me more than 3rd rock solid
w/ mine, confirming findings of 2010 survey
that UK's most content folk are found in Norwich,
pigging out on pizza in front of the idiotbox
w/ their S.O. Shockingly desensitised now my
stake in humanity's love's primecut: a paradox.
Lovely tunnelvision, schmaltzy oblivion, hormonal
co-dependency,
Eros & Thanatos sitting in a tree...
Or in echo chamber built for two, echochambermaid
Aphrodite.
Unobvs reverb of sweet nothings' honeydripping nihilism
of countless folies a deux virgule quatre: atomisation.
Before domestic bliss cult of mutual monomania
decrees we lovers shrug our heartshaped shoulders
& to closed loop of googooeyes go couple-cloistered,
I'll do the world one more favour, vote Labour.
Another mystic poetaster
quoting Rumi...
You might take it personally.
If so, sue me.
I'm not enraptured
by that sufi.
(A nice enough dervish,
but kind of goofy.)