Modernist Poser

My best friend died yesterday,
But I cried over it anyway.
My wife told me she was a queer.
I broke, then.

My humble addiction is to satisfy.
I thrive in static pretension,
In an ego.
The macaws drop like flies,
As I find out any other animal dies.

“Hurry,”
I speak as we hunt for the next show,
Arrogant with devotion.
Hurry, and hurry more,
For I have not heard music before.

And I can’t write,
Just spitting out scraps of thought,
Carelessly tossed together.
It’s time to wallow in the pedantry,
Enjoy every nuance,
Conjured faithfully into a specter.

A preparation under a moonrise,
A silent séance of Passover.
The narrow Jew looked to me,
As if to say,
“Worship your Jesus,
And your Mary,”
He barked at the Catholic in me.

And the greatest story ever written has spoken to me today.
It says,
“Go back, run back to the pharaohs,
And kill them with wooden stakes,
As greed pours out their spines.”

My wife will shoot me tomorrow,
A Colt .45 as a lover, beckoning.
Maybe it has fragile magic,
Lethargic in how it presents itself.
When my head is turned, it will kiss me.
When I rest, it will rape me dead.

And I shall be cast down with the sodomites,
And Cerberus.
Ready to devour anxiety along with them.
The time of nativity is rebounding,
And I have met my match.

And O Hark,
It has become World War Three,
In many colors.
Bombs of men in bloodless shells
Rain down on a magnificent parade,
Sweet with blind noise to serenade.
And O Hark,
I have learned my gun,
And it has become my best friend,
Feeding me passion with mercy,
In the eyes of discrepancy.
When time is drawn out, the clouds will fuck.
Thunder will bring soft rain with gift.
Mud will drench our boots,
Apocalypse will swim in our catastrophes,
A gray apparition squirming.

So hurry, and hurry still,
There will always be a time to kill.
We will beat bright skin drums,
To the beat of our savior,
And reign down on our enemies,
In syrup and in trust.
They will rest bullet loaded,
Skin corroded.
For their master is a hound,
Looming with a certain authority,
As it feeds on angels, nurtured.
I have met my match.