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About This Poem
Shoot the Poet!
Denial?
Victors make me chortle.
Underdogs are most often ego-debatable
and intentionally deflatable.
Also-rans usually return and haunt -
their silenced homilies are
draped upon greased hangers
riddled with semi-grimed defeat.
Me, I shuffle my filthy laundry,
to a nameless immigrant's
dry cleaning domicile;
forcing those wanton beggars
into cherished heathened sniggers.
Vagrant epoch odes are spic & spanned -
aortas are far from being perfectly cleansed...
such as theirs? Such as mine?
Yes...
for idled peasants rarely
guffaw over me.
Will you twitter over me, pumpkin?
Doubtful!
Denial?
Me - a lost survivor of Columbine?
Breathing and clutching an
unread copy of Oscar Wilde's
The Importance of Being Earnest -
closing my eyes and envisoning
the corridors of a devoid insanity -
Eno's transient noise poisons deafened ears.
Not mine...
certainly,
not mine.
Denial?
Am I...?
What?
Thristy for a nuance-wanting -
albeit a goblet?
Gayana was mystical long before
plastic cups and synthetic dementia
became ignorantly fashionable.
Sir HG Wells was popular
long before nature staged an
unrehearsed implosion
contaminating utopia -
flinging his choked larynx into
a poetic hibernation.
I watched him.
I studied him.
Am I...?
Blinded.
Hardly...
You see - I am seemingly comfortable
in a humbled corner now.
Cinderella content.
Dunce-cap grinning - a box of quarter-inched nails
enrobe my burnt shoulders,
in a sleek, camouflage couture;
emulating perfect homage
against an imperfect, stabbing heritage.
Never mind me ...
God is certainly not responsible
for a babysitter's actions?
Denial?
My apologies extend
to no one.
Not even to myself.
Accepatable sneers
force loners to bite their
precocious lips and wink -
fatten their flaps and one's
obvious skin tags will soon
flitter, flutter and falter
into a snared stare.
Misanthrope's eventually bleed
a disappointed cauldron of formidable,
pathetic lies -
tugging upon the deafened ears
of their
specialed someone.
Am I jaded...?
Never...
Cup your palms
below your perfectly chisled jaw.
Exhale slowly - then envelope the
weary wonder of him.
Let the aroma dizzy and dazzle;
a personal scent invades
your afternoon daydreams.
Unhappy with the results?
Surely I am...
well then...
Do it!
Do it now!
Shoot me!
Shoot the Poet!
Forget it -
for I've already
murdered
the man.
(DENIAL)
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