It’s no longer burn the witch it’s drown the ****** purity only attainable when it’s served as a death dessert, martyr Mary do you understand TV dinners made the housewife go extinct or berserk, I think that’s how it goes catching their heads in ovens as protest but listening came in through the door as a catcall, festering on ottoman chairs smoking that new cigarette with a cautionary tale at bedtime the ends being ground, like the beef that we’re all guilty of starting between sighs, or the coffee beans blistered trying to come up with an excuse as to why high heels won’t break that man’s spine, and it won’t in that new suit he’s so possessive of because he paid for it with the sweat of his back as the gaggle of his fellow businessmen scuffle over who gets to lick the perspiration that earned him that respect, that bought the privilege of feeling like a man that stands out from the wolves in offices, waiting at midnight for the froth to begin to foam and to claw at reasons why the bed is always empty when he’s everything everyone wants to be and I think you begin to sympathize, I think you begin to understand why balancing a ballpoint pen between your forefinger and thumb is equally as drinking the cup half full the modern man with his chiseled teeth and overt way of speaking throws up at the American Dream, standing naked in the glory of publicity fame there’s too much lights, the makeup is too intense the crown of jezebels Belongs to the hardworking man with the unkempt lawn, and the natural features of a god it’s no longer burn the witch it’s freeze the ***** while they stand flirting with the boondocks trapping fireflies and weak Christians in their hair and will you listen to me now? as the hordes of provoked believers stand in crowded bars and in your own home ******* themselves mentally as they chew and spit into each other’s mouth what they’ve always wanted to hear and the pleasure comes from not knowing and not wanting to know and will you touch me now? that the fantasy is created in your own image and will you worship me now? that I agree with these shackles telling me that they were always meant to be there that ******* is next to holiness and will you accept me now? that the book has been rewritten and the villain is not you nor me but the refrigerator with the lizard that tempted humankind and banished them from ever entering paradise again and will you **** me now? that comedy is only worth in whoever has the longest tongue
over the past weeks a gentle autumn sun has painted colored leaves upon the ground and thinned the bright abundance of the wooded ranges
most of the harvest is securely stored by now or sold at morning markets by weathered men and women in country garbs
vintners are busy with their lots fermenting grapes and entertaining those who see their visit as pleasant pastime and escape from daily urban chores
hunters and lumbermen are waking up to shoot and mark
schools by this time have settled into the new year teachers are happy still to share the knowledge of our world with students still inclined to listen
businessmen remembering their vacations on the Bahamas or in Saint Tropez step sprightly into offices womanned by secretaries dreaming secretly of beautiful Mallorca summers and of those never-ending nights on the Algarve
I guess it is a human thing to find a new beginning and do best when nature’s breath goes easy to collect the strength for yet another fruitful year
The man with a dapper hat Indeed did not stand a chance With his miraculous ways of business And the practice he criticized while doing it As he ignores his children and never bothers to kiss his wife goodnight And he had never read a book for pleasure Because he was all about business As he moved his way up the corporate ladder While feeling purpose and purposeless And contemplated his white collar status But never complexly enough So as he reached the age of 50 He suddenly saw before him an age of regret As he broke down and cried And wondered what the hell he had done ‘What are we all doing?’ ‘What are we all doing?’ ‘What was I doing?’ ‘What was I doing…?’
He died of a heart attack five years later And no one cared to remember him Except his wife and children Who almost scoffed at the notion of his death And did not even seem to care he was gone They felt an obvious sense of dread That comes with almost all death But he would not be remembered positively Because he had made his way up the corporate ladder… …And why not?
The finger casually snapped back And nobody wanted to live like this But he was too late As he faded like a vapor trail…
People are just people They’re going to die someday But you didn’t care, did you?