With a Vengeance

I thundered through the threshold,
enthralled by many a porcupine diary–

when will we ever learn the true everlasting
Constantinople cantaloupe constitution?
I reckon never, though many local geniuses
think there’s a global phenomenon unfolding
with a vengeance.

I can only postulate,
though the post-latte high
seems to have stalled for a moment,
just briefly enough to incriminate
the most experimental of dancers
both near and far.

We’re still left baffled
by Hemingway’s cat collection,
but a learned individual once told me
that the more toes a feline has, the closer to
ultimate self-actualization
the beholder becomes.

Shotgun or no shotgun,
there’s quite a bit of cortex
to bandy about all willy nilly
if you’re willing to lose a day or two
to the unbending, unaltered
chimpanzee rhetoric machine.
Oh lord, I’ve lost
too many days
to count.

Passing the Time

Ignoring me is always a sound strategy, I’ve found–if you’re an adult chimpanzee, that is. The less taken with me you happen to be, the more likely I won’t be mauled to death. If I end up not being extinguished by senseless violence, I can only imagine the possibilities for passing the time until a natural expiration occurs. I could hang glide over the Grand Canyon, climb George Washington’s nose, swim to the Statue of Liberty or really just do anything I want, whether or not it involves an American landmark. Many people would refer to such a string of accomplishments as a bucket list; I prefer to think of it as a superfluous sequence of events that denotes my extreme privilege in this world.