was born with a navel
and other normal accessories
like penis and ears and liver
stuff without which life is hard
stuff with which life is possible
and he’s eager to eat and defecate
jealous of his portion of oxygen
he’s an avid onanist, a self-starter,
this boy is a two-legged hog with heart
who feels himself anointed for glory
feels himself a child born to shimmer.
Prepuberty glitches presage teenage felonies
but he learns quick that a pure heart does not work
nothing works like a mean spirit and guile
nothing spoils success like empathy
charitable impulses only unman courage.
Our teenage hero struts on stage and stands
thumping his chest, stroking thinning hair
a gob of snot sliding down his smiling lips
pudgy of brain and belly
he breaks into a dance of commercial zeal
singing a song of himself as CEO
and is surprised to gather a gaggle of losers
warm bodies too lazy or stupid to love themselves
and they adore our comb-over avatar
he’s the perfect salve for their itch
he has simple answers for their simple questions
He’s the boy of the hour
upcoming man of the season
a master of female crotches who
puts his nose up an overhanging asshole
to understand the odor of love; he figures
that love lubricated by success is money
brings respect breeds more money more love
more adoration more sex more orgasms
yes, life is going to be a pleasant fuck.
He searches the land for signs of flesh
seeking a seat at a well-stocked table
or the tinkle of chemicals promising bliss
where only the polite eat the polite
outside which reside the redundant
warming their hands on digital fires
celebrating good news for mankind
the word that I am the word
I am come to save the disrespected
I am come to expunge elites from the swamp
I am come to gorge and to be worshipped.
Small things creep unnoticed into the stew
like sand crunching softly in his teeth.
A resistance has quietly arisen, teaching him
that if you’re not for him you’re an enemy,
a traitor to be castrated by any means necessary;
he sings to his simpering flock
the Song of the Bleached Angel of Delusion:
I shall blow down the gates of heaven
blow up the canards of the wimpy
eat a pineapple dumpling for the crowd
and stand on my head howling twaddle
who cares what where when how
only I know beyond the knowable
I am the Him you can trust Me always
I can make the future obey the past
I can return you to your womb.
Trust Me to guild your genitals
I know you better than you know yourself
only I can staunch the southern invasion
of greasy little brown peccaries
no one can steal your lunch with Me on the throne
no one shall sink our ship of state
I am rich and therefore above the rich
I will not abide the cabal of the circumcised
the genes of nasty continents will not stain us
the dispossessed shall disappear
and we shall play in Eden’s sunshine.
