The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten


  You can't leave.
Not yet!
    We've just started.

I won't let you!
[It slips out the fire 'scape.]
Though in my eye 'twas all the time,
it 'scaped my sight till th'apex of its flight.

Where did the warm orange tea go?
Ran out the door hours ago;
& it didn't even take its aftertaste.

Remember the times inside rainy days?
When we'd save Toad from dumped paint?
You were there--you'd know.

I remember all the warm dank caves.
You didn't like them, but I did just the same.
(& this is 'bout me, anyway
--make your own shame.)
When they seem lost, I get a glimpse o' their glow;
but this time it seems as if they're truly gone.

Today I saw burnt-black mushrooms on the lawn.
Maybe they'll be fed by rain.
But I'm sure it'll leave them just the same:
slid out the 'scape in just the same way.

That's how they get you, it seems:
feed you up on that bitchin' graham cracker cuisine,
till it digs a li'l hole where it always lives,
& then they try to fill it with that lobster shit.
Not me.
  I don't know where it's been.
    I'm not ready.
      I've just started.

Please may we have peace?
That blasted sweet melody!
Do do... do, do-do-do...
             Fuck, I can't even get it right.
                     It won't last the night, you know.
                               Nothing will.
Don't think your childish inanities are too good to go.
                              'Sides, now we have a heavy beat.
Bum, dum dum dum-dum...
I can't that right, either.
Say, this reminds me o' that time I was ill.
Isn't the way we look back @ such seeming tragedies kinda neat?
          Yeah, me neither.

& you know what's sick?
I'm sure I'll look back @ this with a slick grin.
Well, no, I s'pose I've exaggerated;
I'll look back in an autumn o' content.
How we cheer @ the leaves regrown,
ignoring their predecessors thrown.
For though I know I look stupid bending my own stem,
  Know some o' us aren't smart 'nough to stop.
& 'sides, a'least I get to hear those groovy tunes in the interim.
  Da da da da da-da da...
Posted in Crazy, Poetry