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Daniel Handschuh Nov 2015
Tingly under the daisies;
   Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
   Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
   Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
   Westernizing—
   Romanizing—
   Constitutionalizing—
   Institutionalizing—
   Perpetually searching
   And dying
   And living,
   Watching Death survive
   And scythe the frolickers,
   The prancers,
   The rompers,
   The merrymakers.
   A rose clamped between his
   Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
   And he dances so joyously.
   “Yes!” say the naysayers,
   Confused are the soothsayers,
   Lost are the cartographers.
   Oh, Utopia!
   The monks are extravagant;
   The meditations are a farce!
   The preachers are beggars
   And swindlers and chargers,
   And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
   Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
   Ritualistically sacrificed,
   And their blood is spilled, drunk,
   Slathered over the ***** man.
   The evangelists scream and lie:
   “You are all predestined to die!”
   Oh, hail Utopia!
   Wedded are the girls to the girls;
   Wedded are the boys to the boys;
   Wedded is Death to Death,
   Life to Life,
   And Life to Death.
   Wedded are the living to the existent.
   And the milking babes are slaughtered
   Ceremoniously,
   Surreptitiously,
   Ostentatiously.
   Oh, hail great Utopia!
   We are all dead and unintelligent:
   Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
   Stupidity.
   Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
   Your retardation.
   Laugh, laugh, laugh!
   Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
   Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
   Aesop was drunk,
   Aristotle was delusional,
   Michelangelo was blind,
   Beethoven could hear,
   Poe was sane.
   And I can't read.
   They ramble,
   I watch.
   They sleep,
   I watch.
   They dream,
   I watch.
   They sleep-talk,
   I watch.
   They scream,
   I watch.
   They choke,
   I watch.
   They suffocate,
   I watch.
   Stone-faced, I stare;
   Raspingly, I breathe;
   Uncontrollably, I twitch;
   Inwardly, I rage.
   I hope you die, I hope you die.
   I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
   I want you begging and crying,
   I want you blubbering at my feet,
   I want you gnashing at my ankles,
   I want you writhing in pain,
   I want your arm twisted off,
   Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.
JMac Mar 2013
Dear Sir, or Madam,

We turn, and we toil, and for what, a dream?
Who said that this is the way that it should be?
Who taught you what you know, He?
Who is He?  You?  Me?

I thought you knew everything.
I thought that you did.
But what did you know?
How to steal.

I thought I knew better.
I really did.
But I didn't.
And now here we are.

You should not be there.
But you are.
And I hate you for it.
Every day.

I can't stand your teeth.
Your eyes.
Your ugly.
I despise you.

Why did you **** me?
Was I worth it?
You took all that I had.
And you ******* burned it.

I no longer care for you.
I want you to die a miserable death.
You disowned me, abandoned me.
Wasted my talents.

Now it is time for my payback.
And it might be slowly.
But if you vanish,
I will find you.

Don't think you'll escape.
Don't think I will forget.
Forgive, in a minute.
I have to do something first.

What you did was ***** me.
You know it.
And multiply me.
By 150 million.  At least.

You should not be forgiven.
You should be taken out back.
Shot.
And forgotten.

But the biggest problems are two.
You are not one.
And you are not you.
So you didn't forget.

I want to find all of you then.
Round you up like cattle.
Call Temple Grandin.
And make her earn her commission.

I can't even eat any more.
I can barely live.
Once thought impossible.
I might be outside.

What did I do to deserve this?
This miserable life.
Did I **** somebody?  Did I shoot them?
What did you do?

Looking at jobs ads.
I see one that catches my eye.
Cafeteria worker, ok, maybe?
3 years of experience required.

Not a black problem.
Not a white problem.
Just a black-and-white problem.
I am right, you are wrong, yet you live.

I pray I'll get mine.
Even if it means I have to pray.
Because I deserve more than this.
Scratch the first item, Shakespeare, and put in bankers.

Banks destroyed this country, with their arrogance.
They believe more money attracts more brilliance.
But does it?  Seems a self-proving system.
One to enhance those who make more money, even illegally.

I'll be back in a minute.
Not really.
I have to move.
I might not even be able to make that work.

I'm not even going to spell-check this poem.
**** pentameter, rhyme.
You need a message.
In stereo sound.

Oh, do you not know what this is?
Oh, do you?
That's like the dumbest thing I know.
And so are you.

You ****** me and you didn't even enjoy it.
And I despise you mainly because you're so dumb.
A guilty plea by you, a lie, almost.
So redemption by me would look like what?

I can't hit you, punish you.
For what, in this righteous universe?
A calculated mis-step.
By a cog in an unforgiving mashing machine?

Forgiveness is inevitable.
Someday the channel will be lost.
But as I said, I have to move.
To a place with more frost.

And oh how beautiful it will be.
When that one day, I look off in to the distance.
And see a setting sun, over serenity.
And all of my dreams coming true.

But I needed that cafeteria position, well no, I mean that I really do.
But you wanted 3 years experience, 3 years.
I can give you zero with a serious but.
A delinquent but, a candid one.

Ever, Truly, Yours,

The Candidate

— The End —