On 2022-04-19 11:56 a.m., Wenceslas Kabeba wrote:
It is my human right to die and furthermore vivaciously
leave this precious slog so spaciously
when I have been deboned and debrained, a freeze dried loofah
amidst plaintive cries of hah hah hah
and my various sympathizers meander around my grave
remembering me as an enraptured knave
congratulate me and my fellow decamped and tamp the barren earth
with blotched and flighty mirth
my atoms will precipitate, intemperate in some colonial Asian town
my Faustian bargain, my avatar a mutable clown
the boiling point will rise, and the local despot vetoing democracy
imbibing the straightjacket of a Gothic autocracy
will lose his reign to the preheated precepts of Johannesburg
or maybe the electrical snort of a radioactive Harrisburg
when alive I was a coward, but as the cosmic soup I lead the hopeless rush the promenading gush the surreptitious hush
cross-eyed and positively charged
denatured mellow and enlarged
I'm an expert on the unlamented
bacteriologically propane scented
and my vapors twinge the bowels of the millionaires
whose cocaine riven mistresses lose their airs
until their craven lusts bubble up and suck them down
to the molesting lair of the mutable clown
my paradise is first come first serve
inconvenient bluster filled with verve
my god ignores the pizzicato imprecations of the mechanizeing snouts
the out of date bell bottomed musicologist shouts
and heaves them down to hell where
awaits incrimination there
slobbering in self pity they forever dwell
with the frankness of a spunky smell
while their knobby headed leader spritzes
yeasty self imcriminating ditzes
the psychopathic ceos with fatalistic cells of fire
turnip faced sapsuckers stuck in the mire
A sodality of leeches on all fours
leaky wizened cheapened whores
muddy and many-sided
for eternity by the bloated albino guided
call out the boiling beardless ripening
of shit so fucking frightening
of the cardinal rules, chock full of haste
at the botoxed albino baby faced
for rebirth in the air of corpulent creation
or maybe sages beneath their station
the threefold godhead converges engrossed in scented fern
the itching cannons begin to turn
and the churning of the etherspace continues yet to burn
alas at this point we must adjourn
Wenceslas Kabeba
copyright 2022
That was quite cool in its own way.
It reads like Ogden Nash updated for the 21st century.
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
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