Jeremy

Posted on: Saturday, January 12th, 2019

I.

You’re gonna ruin that kid, aren’t you? This world…
This world has had enough of antiheroes;
The impermanence of the handsome devil in the puffer jacket…

My sweet enterprising olivine
Trying on bucket hats, the full effect that is mafic in color,
And automatic condescending li’l lucky tracks
Blaze of the gore and found, and sound the all-a-li’l opposey in nurture,

Little pics of wired hope piggybacking like the world hazied according to Monet,
Daycare for the doily-like humanoids ticking amethystic and antihistamines for my selenite,
But the energy is that of the salmonella swordsmen being drawn into Senegal, by form of basalt and broodery…
Thundra, thundra! Thundara and the sweat skins…

Haven’t we caused age-inappropriate mayhem in timely distress?
Precision has always been key. Remember this.
Remember nothing else and proceed, and one becomes a zilch.
Don’t be petty unless you can do it so well, it turns everybody else into a stickler.

Interlude For Jeremy:

“You really have a great heart, don’t you? You really have
That bangin’, bangin’, break-the-fourth-comma-fifth-comma-
Up-to-seventieth type o’ beautiful heart… You classy devil
With a heart like a knife. Heart like a power-driller. Heart like some high-art.”

II.

Give us colder months, Weather Jesus. Let us borrow the winterhood.
I can function good and move when mercury’s retreated. I can attend hastily to all that I should.

Hear me out, hear me out,
Through the days I suffer in,
Always just bubbling under, banjees and well-placed bombs,
Stubbed-out brigs and nothing but assaults, rain guns in farmers markets and kempeitai…

Go ahead, then, perish as desired.
Go ahead, then, continue the design.
Our Grand Desire, Our Grand Design–
Only have energy to resign from life.

(Give us colder months, whether Jeremy would allow.)

,,,

Our life was never easy, anyways.
Furtive in all our efforts, like fermatas taken in Gstaad.
Snuff your hopes. I am not returning.
I have known lesser evils than the heartbreak the sun-in-solemn O’-so casually brings.

I bring up
The rib of the wounded pride,
The width of the smile dependent on the day.
Every day, abominable. Every day, unsafe,
But no more.

So many– all praying and predatory– looking for rock-star employees under gendarmerie.

Aces, Charles. Aces and laces and smears like caramel.
Some times, only scissors suffice, make one glow up the way no others device.
Avarice that’s avant garde, foxholes like Satan’s empanada–
I pray to the guard patrolling that my soughts of piecemeal and staunchly aftercare, rare and agitating,
Wound find me loyal to the kink of non-destructions.

Find me a journey. Perhaps,
Find me a home to return to,…
Living in languish, the casual populists and their minding off and minding out may not be as bad as the picky ones so mutualistically desire.
Now, we desire for penthouses, desire for fortune and sex and materialistic things and thugs over-lingering, over-empowering, over-sheltering and overbearing even the most out of most from souls that aren’t worth for scraps.
The days are rattling like petals and snowflakes smelling like Dior, pasty-faced and always acclimating, packets of sorrow and soy.


 
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