A Confession

07 Jan


A Confession (the anchorite of apathy)


I lead a rhetorical life

and if money is speech  

I am generally tongue-tied

For those like me

death is speech

it’s how we express ourselves:

say it strongly

“miasmic delight in the dying fall”  

and you’ll clap

because I referenced Francis

because I pretend poeticism so well

then it’s woebegone

and a plea to trafficking charges

moving the cocaine of the highbrow intellectual

across cerebral lines

and I bow a lowly bow

then I belch like a yawning wolf

take my paycheck to the bar

to play nine-ball and drink with the hustlers

to find a woman with skin smelling of sertraline

so that she could course through my veins

for a night

so I can shine a bit in her spotlight  


pointedly tired of claiming a preoccupying disdain

for you and those alike

when really I strive only for some irony

to pigeonhole myself as a misanthrope

leftover rotten to explain

with no explanations left

wide eyed

if you wish it so

comforting if you believe it

if it helps you understand this world around you

and the liars that surround you charismatically

ready with curtsy and courtesy

always perishing

but so delightful


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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