Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2019
it might have been a naked body
with a *******,
i could have faked being a butcher
logging a pig's torso,
never giving into entombing
my heart in the body of another,
but i just left the whole
interaction only puddle deep...
  ****: i almost wrote poodle...
anyway...
               i like that,
reciprocrated objectification,
  i much like that...
                 whenever i am to posit
myself as a subject...
i switch off...
             it almost felt like petting
a dog...
    it's not like you're even thinking
about ******* the poor thing,
which is nice,
after all, she said i was nice...
          the moment you forget
your genitals because of
untrimmed ***** afro:
the same **** that's on your face's
worth of a beard...
     well... the "game" is to kiss
a *******...
            but all the current subject
matters encompassing
an object of desire?
                     mine-field...
                     the "quick" and "easy"
fix...
          what, and the blank pixel screen
is not an outlet
of compensation?
i like it when i go to the supermarket
for my daily "fix"
of a liter of whiskey...
            i figured...
why not stage polite,
why not keep to manners?
like today...
           this cashier at
the self-chasier robotic aisle...
she still has to
    tend to you when you're
buying tagged goods,
like alcohol...
                  she drops her keys,
i beat her to it picking them up...
and "all i get in return"
    are the words...
thanks darling, thanks babe...
        how many shoppers
say goodnight to
the supermarket cashiers?
           i say my goodnight...
more darling and babe
fly my way off the surf of the tongue
from her tongue...
        of course i'm no standard
good... 1 liter of whiskey
per night?
        but i do know something
surrounding the practice of
social etiquette...
                personally...
i don't like it when people
put people "in their place"
surrounding low skilled employment...
i don't like it,
              simply put:
it ****** me off...
             i don't really want to feed
feeding a superiority complex
of some bureaucratic hack
akin to sargon of akkad
   breaking away from a call-centre;
here's the same reaction:
                        but in slow-motion.
it doesn't take much
to orientate yourself around
general, banal, manners...
         whenever i get a chance
to keep a door open for a woman
i'm either to exprience
a simple thank you...
or stunted growth
   zombie-apathy syndrome of mute...
and for me...
that's just so much more than
some monotheistic religiosity
of posturing during prayer...
lunatics or what?
   if not a ******* position
of christianity,
   then ******* of Islam...
or Judaism: with its standing up
moshing while standing in one place...
every, single, interaction,
is, a variant of prayer...
     and each time i buckle...
like buddhism states:
back to square one...
   begin once again from point 0, 0, 0,
triple negation...
              just keeping it simple,
keeping it sweet...
          there's no need to complicate
such a simple interaction
with a supermarket cashier
as to allow an escalation matrix
that only translates into
     an affair of over-blown proportions...
that whole star of david
     dissonance...
         you know what that looks like?
              Δ (delta)         /     ∇(nabla)
see the dynamic?
           pyramid - hierarchy to the top...
the one at the top of the hierarchies...
and then?
            well: democratic plateau on top...
but... i'm seeing something
bothersome...
            the invisible authoritarian
throng picking off
   the "little pharaohs"...
                    there are no pharaohs
in the nabla dynamic,
just a disorientated sense, of a missing
congregational dynamic,
  just one tier of the whole structure's
dynamic...
                     this whole
dyktando / rubric
                          of the perfectly suited
people for their tier...
          the star of david inversion (Δ∇)
doesn't really work with
the outliers...
the sort of people who do not fit
into the handy tier-by-tier
   variation of staccato accenting /
insinuating "truth"...
                       self-help gurus are
                                      not going to help...
i was deadlocked into giving
attention to one, one too many
to begin with...
   i avoided self-help books
like the plague...
i guess: i'll have to continue this
fetish for fake hope.
Mateuš Conrad
Written by
Mateuš Conrad  36/M/Essex (England)
(36/M/Essex (England))   
114
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems