Archive
07/02/08 - (1)
Underground Poet
After all these delusional, illusional years Of alchemizing words into fool's-gold verse, Selling himself as a Merlinish sheep in wolf's clothes,
Fooling no one, really, except himself, With his gaseous claptrap, histrionic flourishes of balderdash, Watching all his poems fall through society's cracks,
As if they were golden eggs, laid by a giant's dragon, Plummeting from a beanstalk tree house, Splattering on the pates of priests and rabbis manning picket lines,
Thousands of feet below, protesting free speech, As though their demonstrations might persuade the powers that be To cut this misunderstood genius no slack,
Show no appreciation for his endless tenure of creating anomie, Wreaking odious shit-disturbances, Flatulence of the highest order — spurious coin-of-the-realm rhyme.
How this self-anointed Poet Laureate of the Nether Regions Has managed to stay in office, avoid being impeached, Yanked off the stage, with the aid of a red-hot trident,
Baffles every royal bard across the vast kingdom. What kind of influence could he conceivably have, That's let him yet sing his demoniacal cacophonies?
His poems — malevolent paeans, Cynical, sardonic, misanthropic, sociopathic ditties Championing man's inhumanity to man —
Have never failed to titillate and motivate The lowliest dregs, the most rebellious of the rabble, Those advocating the counterculture overthrow of decency,
With smut, libel, prurience, scatology, execrable expletives. Indeed, though disliked (nay, disdained) in civilized circles, He's published, underground, his scathing, scurrilous diatribes.
Could it be that this spirited malcontent has an in with God? Could he possibly be His bastard son, The hellish, firebrand anti-Nazarene, come in the flesh?
07/02/08 - (1)
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