Mr.

Mr. “Screams ‘GEEZ!'” went rarin’ by my left window,
almost as though he’d even had a care in the world–
if it hadn’t been for that cheez whiz spritzer marmalady
gettin’ her gunk in his junk (or his gunk
in her junk, can’t quite remember).

Elemensexary, my dear Tulip the Begonia Wallace.
I’ve been awaiting your arrival for some time now,
young man. I can’t wait to get a good pasta cooking,
if you know what I mean. If you don’t,
no worries, we’ll get you set up like a Pastafarian
on Wednesday evenings, ensconced in the price of
the pledge of allegiance. You may consider this schedule
an eighth more sensational than the tap dodger aligners
who’ve risen to prominence within the last four months.

But enough of that nonsense, it’s about time for me
to devote the digestion of fandom complication atoms
to a starry-eyed wanderer named McGriff (who looks
nothing like Elliott Gould, no matter what LaVernia says).

In Hiding

Diluted monkey parachutes
have led to countless altercations–
most of those deaths
could have been prevented.

Nowhere else but in hiding
would one even entertain
such a horrific factory prediction.
The only excuse for economic ignorance
of this magnitude would be
the natural dearth of current fiscal knowledge,
if we honor our aforementioned hiding scenario–
cowardice in the eyes of an American entrepreneur.

It’s the largest of the large men with largess
who typically manufacture the troll psychology
that plagues today’s youths. They have
nowhere to hide anymore.

Bandwagon Antics

In light of this glut of well-delivered monologues here tonight, I’m convinced that we humans–because I’m definitely a human, don’t go running around and telling your friends otherwise–quite possibly have a fighting chance in this thing we call life amongst the celestial bodies (well, at least that’s what I call it). While by no means a guarantee, I can certainly exclaim that creativity should–dare I say must–eventually overtake the box-in-box mentality that has, thus far, led to the perpetuation of flocking masses of mundanity, sometimes riled to the point of stampeding.

Those of us who can visualize the ideal representation of creative humanity will be sick and tired of bowing down to tyrannical individuals who would prefer to destroy rather than glorify the artistic inspiration leading to craft (for craft’s sake). In the eyes of the inscrutable free-market economist, if something that requires a great deal of skill also happens to net you a tidy profit, then it will obviously be quite desirable. In the face of such bandwagon antics, it takes the uncompromising individual to declare “I am going to do this because I love it, no matter how minute the level of compensation.”

Those Tennis Ball Eyes

I think sticking a shinbone
into the belly of a live lemur
just happens to be one of the cruelest acts
a person can commit. Sure,

there are plenty of crimes
against humanity that could be
considered as somewhat more intense,
but lemurs are primates too. I think

crimes against animals are worse anyway,
because animals don’t know
what any of our justice system means.
If someone is tried for that heinous act,

do you think the lemur knows? No,
of course not. Even if you told
the lemur that you’d bring it closure,
it would just stare up at you with those
tennis ball eyes, unaware of the social context
(or indeed the language you speak).