"When i go to the pissing grounds to eat yellow snow"

 

When I go to the pissing grounds to eat
yellow snow, to dine on the urine stained feast
left by the feet of many a passer, I will
smile in discontented delight to have before me,
there waiting for me, a luxurious land of waste
that is mine to leave a child that is to be
left behind when I pass on by and find
in the crumbling earth a stench infested grave,
giving all children a reason to be graven
when they grow and come upon this place
and find ease when they pull from their filthy trousers
a filthy thing that they use with the same impunity
that my father's father was possessed of.

Worms and maggots humbly crawl
at my toes in waiting for me to fall face forward
into the ice cold bed of time's winter,
to sleep in the frozen pillow of nothingness
where I fade once and lose all sight
and insight into the souls of soulless men
left dead on the battlefields of great conflict,
the inner spirit fighting itself and the razor,
the Occam's razor that slashes fearlessly forward
and backward and forward again in happy gesture,
gesticulating the blade in furied measure, tuned
to the melodic madness that circumvents all sanity,
that defiles and hastens the end of drunk obscurants.

A toast to them that come in the name of a name
and build, create, edificial monuments of monumental
proportion, having them erected as timely as
an erection freshly sprung on a forlorn morn, leaving
the genius alone to tend to the fictitious giant that is
seen to rage and spark and fire to the wind
a volley of pent aggression, an act of arthritic defiance
in the face of a greater energy than that of you and I,
than that of water moving down in circular spirals…
to the left and then to the right, crossing and re-crossing
an equator that faintly resembles the linear
line of a malfunctioning equilibrium, curved and twisted;
to them, erect for me a telling memorial too.

 

30 May 00