though as a friend I may have kept this all to myself

doubting the honesty, then sanity

do not believe that there is no narrator

 

now in my own times I do not believe in worship,

asinine and vulgar, it is the imagination failing

it is the imagination failing which I truly love

 

so much for the cranking out from the uterus -

He was a gnome at first, no, first he was glob

then later a gnome, then midget, then paradigm

 

He was/is no good at barricading himself from hysteria,

or the other trifles... a unique soul, my son -

but this narrative blanches on first person shooters

 

don't get me wrong I think the rituals hyggelig -

malapropisms appropriate, and absence of being charming

even the dare to live normally, I disembowel

 

but let me remind this audience of no narrative -

when is it proper to evolve? The exact moment

maybe let's sink back into misogynistic severalty

 

I'm alive! God knows two billion people are starving to death,

a whore outside the luxury. Even though a third of the world

I'll remain as complacent as I can, to the last death.

 

©2009 wfairbrother

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