One for Maury Noble

08 May

——–

“No great movement designed to change the world can bear to be laughed at or belittled. Mockery is a rust that corrodes all it touches.”

                                                                                                             – Milan Kundera

 

 

One for Maury Noble

 

There are really no others left

besides the dim and the bored

isn’t that how you put it

both like a pill bottle with a facile throat

audaciously, some of them even turn to criticism

like spoiled teleologists or successful venture capitalists

because they’ve spent so many decades being sure.

Fuck them all, though

all of us, really   

I’ll spend my time

that I’ve somehow stolen off like the pity of a food stamp

well

entertaining the bored

and searching for no more higher truths

while ravaging the dim

(as long as it’s not in my apartment)

where I can

when I can  

when they wear their candied summer skirts

when they can afford my generous premonitions.

I’ll stay succulently

abated and clean

the proof of intellectual futility

the erasure of open warrants because of grammatical mistakes and light skin

the stranded hitchhiker in vague beauty

a sexual appeasement that proves that the only tragedy handed down is falling in love or admiration, especially with someone that treats gin bottles like literary fax machines that send chopped, macaronic bits of belles-lettres from one brain stem to another page for the sake of fanciful emulation…

fuck it, my brothers in drunken penmanship, find a cheaper muse

(preferably of the sapiosexual sort)

that’s like a notice of foreclosure or like another party invitation  

and roam free in your thoughts until you write something amusing

never anything high-minded or loftily designed

because you must have tried before

and failed before

as those who try surely do.

Escape all that

stay safe in the distant eras long since shipwrecked

love them and appreciate them

but create only new fetishes and fetes

always in irrelevancy and incurable bacchanalia

that others will gloriously embolize like a superfluous blood vessel

later on

in their own time

within their own lack of meaning

still simply chorus members with no solos to sing

just another generation of

the dim and the bored

preserved from fear of trying something different

asking whether we’re all laughing yet…

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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