Rest Easy

Enter Groucho Violent,
star of the nerves and streets,
a double threat if there ever was one.

His reputation precedes him as witty enough to turn a phrase and hard-knuckled enough to know when to admit defeat in the face of a petulant and pernicious foe who, in all likelihood, believes that their position of power has been handed down to them from the LORD ALMIGHTY, and any little rivulet of diarrhea that escapes their corpulence is to be rendered an earth-shattering development in the field of extrapersonal material management, now and forevermore.

Groucho is no stranger to the justice-enforcement arm of things. When his even-keel demeanor and righteous self-taught martial arts techniques combined on one fateful and blustery Flag Day eve, the Justice Jab was born. If you’re still unfamiliar with the singlemost effective crimefighting maneuver ever concocted by man or beast (in Mr. Violent’s last-ditch effort to uncover the overall reason as to our lack of humility when confronted with reasoning), you have some real catching up to do.

The Justice Jab is a miracle worker when the recipient of said jab needs to be awoken from the haze that they’ve come to accept over time, through sheer laziness and self-disrespect. The haze’s effect causes but is not limited to: depression, sluggishness, flatulence, lack of interest in things one would normally enjoy, unjustified sporadic agitation, and death. Such a disconcerting malady comes as a direct byproduct of this world we’ve inherited (through no fault of our own). Rather than face the music, the vast majority of we, the privileged few, have chosen to consume the content created specifically to manipulate our emotional and physical dependencies more efficiently and cheaply than cocaine ever could.

So the next time you see Groucho Violent
meting out swift street vengeance,
you can rest easy
knowing that he’s doing humanity a service.

On Macroscale

There’s nothing here
for me,
and I really can’t quite stand it.

It’s as though my skin
is tearing itself
apart at a subatomic level

and I’m sitting here
on macroscale
just wondering when all my atoms
are going to pop away into oblivion.

Chopping and Carving

I can at least say that I’m trying to understand your situation, can’t I? It’s not like I’m just throwing a life preserver from the edge of the dock and telling you to swim in its general direction. I mean, I’m practically carving a canoe from a tree I just chopped down and hauled to shore.

Oh, by the way, all I could find for chopping and carving was a crappy old serrated kitchen knife. I hope you’re happy. Look how miserable you’ve just made me and tell me that you don’t find any satisfaction in that.

Occur? Of Course

I stave off depression by laughing at all those small things one would normally dismiss as mundane and otherwise unfunny. A crack in the sidewalk shaped like the silhouette of Walter Mondale; a pigeon that unwittingly traces three invisible clockwise circles with its waddling; a skyscraper hiding and reappearing as cloudcover waxes and wanes. Did these phenomena actually occur? Of course they did. Was I there to observe them? Anything’s possible.

Hovering 2

A soggy beach ball wedged between cotton sheets
spreads noiseless destruction when left unattended.
It’s hiding from a magnified truth, something once folded
that now imposes a grapevine of extra-strength aspirin.
Semi-deflated and drumming with concern, slippery when wet;
always cornered, cowering from preconceived needles.

Tarmac 2

Laugh at the endeavors of a poet. They’re too idealized, infantile, idiotic, idiosyncratic to be real and applicable in our modern society of vast civilization and designed scarcity (not to mention obsolescence). A word will change with its people, a poet will laugh at those people in a different language.

Laughing through words proves difficult most times, unless a kindred spirit laughs along at the farce that was invented when the ones who held all the wealth decided that distributing these valued materials across hordes of commoners would immortalize the innovators of the shackling system; those benevolent givers still have their faces on dirty coins today, unseeing and ignorant to the ridicule they’ve imposed upon their children.