The Mezunian

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

Gray May & Blue June in September

Too cold,

too tired

to fold

2 tires;

too bold,

too wired—

took coal,

¡chew fire!

Sorry I tossed it in the can;

it looked so vulgar, so insipid

with arbitrary rips. ‘Twas bent

& crumpled, too. You’ll hardly miss it,

¿will you? You could e’en see right through

it—not a color whatsoe’er.

So throw the tethers with the feathers.

No, I like my locks a lot—

& I’ll have you know, the cost

that “insipid” wrapper held

beat the sum of all you’ll sell.

Burning, now I bring you hell.

Now, keep digging.

¿How? Neat rigging.

¡Ow! Beats stripping.

Ciao. (Deep swigging.)

& now they tell me that I’m dying.

Keep frying.

& now I see that no one’s buying.

Keep trying.

& now I watch the drainpipes crying.

Keep drying.

But now I watch the plastic winding.

Keeps sighing.

Roll me through your slop,

bounce atop my cot,

make my blood veins clot,

taste spoiled pastel chalk.

& still I don’t know when to stop…

«A todo el mundo,

a todo mis amigos:

vos quiero.

Tengo partir.

I have to stay here,

I have to stay clear.


—Gigadecay, «Disparando sudor.»

Posted in Española, Metered, Poetry