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Moving home was perilous,
like cave diving.

But someone said
there was a garden
in that great gulf,
hidden behind shadows
too deep to see:

here, strange fruit
flourishes
in the tardigrade heat,
steeping like tea.

The frightful fish
feeding thereon
live under pressure,
burst when they ascend.

You must be careful
when you leave,
lest you also get the bends.
STOP PREVENT YOUR DEATH GO NO FURTHER
Ira Bruno Jun 1
God gave us Donald Trump.
God blessed his diapered ****
with our country.
God chose to make him rich.
God called my wife a *****.
I wonder if there was a glitch
in reality?

God says it's kinda cool
that Trump's a massive tool.
He's peachy keen.
God, Donnie's such a man--
his Coca-Cola can
fits neatly in his tiny hand,
known to grab pss*s.

God thinks he's very bright.
His Presidential Might
enlivens me.
Obama wasn't right.
We trust Trump 'cuz he's White;
also, we hate the Sodomites
and your liberty.
To the tune of "God Save the King," known in the United States as "My Country, 'Tis of Thee."
Ira Bruno Dec 2021
Hail CWC and all the OC's, too!
Hail Sonichu and Rosechu!
We curse-ye-ha-me-ha the trolls;
this **** rivals the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Alumnus of PVCC
afflicted by virginity,
so he devised a master plan
to finally become a man.

But Mary Lee would not abide;
our autist hero she did chide
and ripped up his attraction sign.
He soon thereafter went online.

Some 4chan trolls would come along.
(Hail them, they're why we sing this song.)
They started up an ED page,
inciting Chris into a rage.

Yet CWC could not contain the need:
his massive ego had to feed.
For the attention trolls did yield,
no secret thing did Chris conceal.

As time wore on, his fame would grow.
He even got on Tosh point 0
posing in women's underwear
thus with the world Chris-Chan was shared.

One day a group of teenage boys
who, growing tired of games and toys,
conspired to blackmail now-Christine
just to go down in "Christory."

From Twitter, it was plain to see
Chris breaking from reality:
obsessed with multiverse theory,
proclaiming herself deity.

Some sophomore down in Texas, y'all,
precipitated Christine's fall,
incepted into her weak mind
a crime of the most heinous kind.

From jail, Christine now writes to us
insisting that she is Jesus.
Is Christine crazy or afraid,
and is she finally getting laid?

Amen.
sung to the tune of "Old 100," also known as "Doxology."

This is a retrospective on the online presence and work of troubled outsider artist Christine Weston Chandler and her problematic online following.
Ira Bruno Sep 2021
I could salt you, Queen,
but you'd leave a nasty stain
I don't wanna clean.
Ira Bruno Jul 2021
It has been a while,
hasn't it?

How have you been,
since the whole cult thing?

So listen.
I've been in a dark place
spiritually
since long before we met,
and you didn't see the end of it.

Personally, I blame 9/11.

But I have put an end to it.
I looked up in my minds eye,
looked back,
and was shocked not to turn to a pillar of salt
but instead saw you in the eyes of a stranger
I let myself fancy.

They told me my love was possession,
and by demons, no less.
They said it was political
and a passing fad.
They said it was a bastion of disease. Typical.

So I don't have feelings or anything,
but I did have a crush on you for a minute.
I hope that's not too weird.
I didn't even realize it until I saw that stranger.
He just looked so well put-together.

When we knew each other,
I couldn't express to you
my mutual interest in history.

So perhaps we can be friends?
Get tea?
I don't think you're God
or anything crazy, like that.
I know that we just bumped into each other
and now I'm being a little direct.

We can talk about history,
or what we've been up to.
Doesn't have to be now or here,
bring your wife if you'd like.
I didn't expect to write about him today, but sometimes these things just happen.
Ira Bruno May 2021
my bachelor turns two today.
its a lemon.  
i can hardly write my own name anymore.
how can i sing again?
i get other people's spit in my mouth.

my mother is dying.
same way as grandpa.
my mind is full of doubt.
can i tell you that i love you?
i don't care who you think you are.

i'm moving back out of my parents' house.
saving for a car.
there is a silent sadness here.
can you hear it?
madness like a twister
paints the air sulfuric.

it is the memory of men
ranting, laughing, sobbing, all at once,
without pasts or futures.
do you like christian rock?
it is infectious.

what you need to know:
money is a concept with which we afford our dignity.
we are all dropped off and later picked up.
what comes out of you?
everyone depends.
Ira Bruno Mar 2021
i am an island
in an ocean of nothing
who knows who's watching
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