.
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.
.
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