Solemnly carved or breathily sketched,
tenets are ornery exigency.
Blooey in tenets dislikes being etched
into any pretense of a permanency –
it doesn’t like lying where lies have lain.
Assertions cause me to recoil.
Aren’t whims more amenable in the brain?
Can’t nothing-at-all be arable soil?
Cue in the roiling cosmic guffaws:
Beelzebub’s gut-busting laughter
disrupts all our cogent canonical laws.
Why should we care what comes after?
Death shocks: ergo churches are born.
What a terrible reason to pray!
Serious dictates deserve human scorn.
We’re strangled until they give way.
And give way they will: time and tide
will subvert every chilling self-certain fiat.
Must we know why we’ve lived or died?
A filigreed wisp of a nothingness, that.
First decide what you will not awaken to:
wobbledy snobbledy gobbledygook.
Then choose where you want to be taken to:
Bring me plump crispy pig: oh! just look
how it glistens and blisters and turns
spitting fat, rat-a-tat! – so salaciously good –
as it mystically hisses and mindlessly burns
over lustfully cackling wood.
Here, beyond future and past,
nothing refuses to rhyme
where no one can think – at last! –
to accuse any soul of a crime.