On
What are you on?
Proton, electron, neutron,
Megatron, Decathalon?
Ozone, moron! Decepticon.
Cameron...
No, really...
What are you on?
You look quite normal,
formal,
et al.
Yet, the pride of
positivity, negativity.
Manmohanlike neutrality,
castrality,
morality, plurality.
Once unattainable immortality.
Numerical uncertainty,
of bizarre cosmic balance.
Sits perched,
like proverbial monkey,
On your sagging shoulders.
Like boulders.
Yet no one holds her.
Seeking just a peaceful death,
in your war torn arms.
Psalms, alms.
The ignored, outstreched palms.
Not seeking your fucking money,
just some trippy balms.
To etherize the baby,
still born,
hanged from cotton,
torn.
Seek, inherently meek.
For your silver cheek.
It serves as a prop,
In this urban back-drop,
Flip. Flop.
The mouse ran up the ticking clock.
Buy some stock?
Perhaps a frock.
Recite the chorus of Prufrock.
Like that baby etherized,
resized.
Under the table.
There's nowhere left to go then?
for you and I?
Bribe the tribe.
With two holy books.
Perhaps three,
Trinity.
Flushed with funds,
sitting in bunds,
refunds moribund.
So that you can be beseeched,
preached, bleached.
Anything,
yes, anything at all.
Except that boulder,
you should have told her.
No really, why are you proud?
Loud.
Devout.
Praying for one person's
Or another's rout?
En route?
Getting hired by a tout.
With bits,
Of tits or printed paper.
Batman was just another caper.
And no one,
No one.
Not even a vengeful God,
Gave you permission
to rape her.
Escaper.
What are you on?
Proton, electron, neutron.
Comments