Holy Burroughs, holy Ginsberg, holy Kerouac,
holy alphabetical order.
Rationality is everything.
Congeniality is a thing.
Look at him! So angsty at his youth.
Desperate teenage nothing, so childish.
Emotional, anxiety, emotional adolescent.
Transitional, saturn return, laughing back, hades descent.
As the words of feelings burst from my chest.
No one really cares unless it’s in colors.
Big cocks and tiny holes are bursting out of your eye.
Vision of a straight up fuckery.
Never was a saint but sometime’s a sinner.
I don’t wanna be life’s another winner or loser.
Loud thumping of those tribemen’s heart.
My backyard is the amazon, so I say.
I picked up a plastic cup and
jump into the river.
Taking me to luscious dangers of the rainforest.
As I fall down on hades descent.
It was just another name of another drug.
Calm kids, crazy kids, syndrigastis all follow the serpent.
It’ll be just a minute until they run a mug.
Electric guitars, electric hearts, electric sex.
Everything is electric until the conductor comes.
The conductor comes with it’s string orchestra
…conducting the ninth symphony as if it’s the sound of disaster.
The underground was velvety until Jimmy comes along…
with his gun.
With his gun! With his wits! With his balls!
Shoot shoot! Jimmy goes…
Handled by the handlers…
Jimmy gave up on life. The tragedy…
was as absurd as this poem. The beauty…
of death won’t show up just yet. The melancholy…
of someone’s death after someone’s agenda.
Strawberry moon is coming…
Bravado generation of social media fuckery.
Polished steel, polished teeth, and a drug bust.
Devils lurking in the night’s machinery.
Competition, another one bites the dust.
Hangover-sphere of a hipster’s coffee brewery.
Manifestation of… oxford commas!
Our lives are full of ruins and rebels.
Ruins and rebels are the images often seen on television.
They have prophesied about our lives.
But only us who currently live it…
The generation of lost hope, lost faith.
Botox injected lady succubus
sucking our beloved young peculiar minds
with its nothingness of purity.
Yuppified portrait of an angel
who accepts the incubi of economy.
“Am I a jellyfish?”
“I took a polyp form so I could be a medusa.”
Sounding like a child of the lost loop,
I live a life for the unholy heist of gold.
Teenagers are selfish…
Doing weird artificial things with hoo and ha.
Listening to the supernatural force of doo woop.
Thinking that they have always been bold.
“I wanna be a gun-toting, butt-fucking,
long-cumming bastard of the world”
said the hollywood corpse.
Immorality equals immortality, is it?
Maybe it is if you learn how to live a bit.
Holy Kierkegaard, holy Nietschze, holy Sartre.
Rationality is nothing.
The worldly lateness of my being.
Heavenly shine of a thing called malaika.
I’m fucked over for good.
I wake up in the middle of Berea,
Kentucky…fried soul food.