Nuts

The craziest thing is wishing
Interesting people will listen.

Shouldn’tyet, I always figure
I’m special, like, I’ll be bigger

Eventually. See, something must
Happen, or else I’ll go cold, just

Ice—as in, “Hit me with one
On the rocks,” and then done

With the fancy shit. Kafka
Stayed suckin’ on Betrach-

Tung way longer than any
Piece of Bukowski’s many

Whore-inspired, prosaic-feces
Masquerading as indecencies

He’d invented—like the new coliseum
Needed reruns of a pride in Te Deum.

But, maybe it does. I would be the ass
Hole full of spunk, guts, and Levinas

Extract from the exodus of ecstasy-
Era, Boom-Echo, debts-and-dream

Addled consciousness, or conscience
My folks call ‘a future’[sic: options]

Who’d suggest it. Sick: a word no worse
For the wearer of perspective than ‘Verse’

Holds in its pit of obsessive pursuit
After little perfections wear through…

So, let’s all swing round for round
Is where this poem’s going, drowned

In dialectic with solipsists—
Another anonymous monolith.

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