The Mezunian

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

to mix coffee & booze & tea

makes me grease

up in the bucket I let spill trills ago.

I ran out o’ the greasy chemicals with which to fill this shit,


¿or is it just fabricated?

¡Say it!

¡It’s the law!

¡Say’s the law!

Money’s time,

& all time gets spent on ‘ventuallies.

¿What makes 1 ‘ventually better than the others?

¿What makes plum jellies ‘bove the worth o’ butter?

So many things to flow all around,

like bliss, & fat, & clams, & oven mits.

I’m an occult.

¿& what do you spend your ‘ventuallies on,

but tea & booze & coffee

or coffee & booze & tea

or booze & coffee & tea

or booze & tea & coffee

or tea & coffee & booze,

but ne’er tea & booze & coffee—

that’d be wacky.

It’s cold, though.

¿How’d you know there’s nothing new under the Afternoon Moon?

¿O, where did you get that from?

¿What friends have you made fool with?

Ah, I know where you read that…

So I try to stir harder

the lucky pot that holds every ingredient in the world,

to sift those that taste spiciest

& leave out those that are too ricy,

to do

Senior Estadounidense’s Delightful Stew.

¡What a funny-looking peasant!

I am a Socialist, Smurov.

(No, not the lowercase kind, ¡you filthy prole!)

const int NUM_O_LINES = 256;

for ( int i = 0; i < NUM_O_LINES; ++i )


std::cout << “There ain't no justice—(¡Justice!)” << std::endl;


& I’ve left ‘hind my keen Dr.

& my theory general

to be uselessly bombed in combat

to give into the philosophy o’ the sad-faced, shell-fleshed crabs,

o’ the caged rats—

«You’ve already played that DVD, Steve,

& it ne’er worked for all your 5 Zanzibari rupees.

Maybe the sauce would seep into every baggie

if you’d just leave.»

I’m an Anarchist, Smurnov.

const int NUM_O_LINES = 2560;

for ( int i = 0; i < NUM_O_LINES; ++i )


std::cout << “¡That's how greatful I am!” << std::endl;


I lived on my feet,

I sat on my feet,

I ate my chili without grated cheese,

but didn’t e’en sneak you a single speech bubble—

¡Too much trouble?

¿Too many double faces!

I lived on my face,

I sat on my face,

& didn’t e’en arrogantly show my gratefulness

when you praised my speedy Lorraine kitsch.

I’m a Nihilist, Smirnoff.

I was wrong,

& I was wrong since the beginning o’ the bong,

so said my mother in legend…

look closely @ the diagram to see the legend…

I’m a Magical Socialist, Blue Moon.

But we must return to the chemicals I want,

we must return to the bucket & not the box,

not the pot,

left ‘hind like a chalk outline’

left on the space-age street on which we all drive by,

where the strawberry pancakes are long gone

& left me without a throat to sing the rest o’ this song.

I’m a Post-Democratic-Republican-Liberal-Modernist-Progressive-Anarcho-Rasputinist-Socialian, Smurov

Go all the way



You think you got us #’d…


but we will strike like thunder…


We’ll fucking strike like lightning…


& be exactly as exciting…


& now you say we’re grime…


say we’re a coconut without a lime…


Well, you need to realize…


that grease ne’er dies—


I’m a Schliferpus, Smurtov.

No, I’m solo fuckin wit yo, habanero.

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Posted in Poetry