Modern day, low vibe dysfunctionality
Teeth chattering boom boxes
Broken bottle messages, afloat in the sewer
Dehydrated, mutated song lyrics
That can't fly anywhere, and there's no music-
So what's the point of it all?
Fill to the beaker line with some profane gibberish,
Swish it around a few times and- Voila!
Another reeking creation is born
Trying to prove who's the more burned out
The more jaded, past caring, past hope
It might be a surprise, but everyone feels down sometimes.
It's much too late to patent that, I'm afraid
I say, these poems should relocate to some other solar system
Some meteor bombarded, crater pocked
Parking lot, full of smoking wrecks,
In some craggy ex-galaxy, at the rats-assed edge of time:
The one still peopled with dinosaurs;
Where mammals just didn't make the cut-
They will surely be appreciated there
By the ruling reptilian-brained elite, at home amid the chaos.
Vomit in a beaker:
I just don't get it.
If I happened to step in it by accident
I would have to expunge it from my soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem