Delusions of…many things

Ah, the vanity of youth. Disaffected affectation. The nonsense of prominence. The idealism of irony and romanticism of melancholy that plagued my late teens and early 20s…

[reformatted from my original, Spring 1996]

NO RESPONSIBILITy

Thank me.
Spank me.
Bank me.
Rank me.
I child.
I adult.
Member of this human cult.
On the edge of spring.
On the eve of winter.
From my heart
Remove this splinter.
From my soul,
Release this curse.
Of empty pages.
Of empty purse.
I alone.
I together.
From this cool, cruel world
My self do sever.
To say farewell
To things of man.
To minutes dreary
Which Life did span.
The clocks which ticked
The bells which chimed
My mind resigned
To thoughts sublime.
Of names and faces
Of persons passed
Relieve this stage
Of talentless cast.
Of fools and prophets
Crudities and graces
Which grand and glam
Society embraces.

Away with bureaucracy!
Down with elitism!
Kill the bastards!

Oh, excuse me.

The legacy I am left
By great bards of yore
Leave the poets of morrow
Much to deplore
It was less a gift
Than it was a cross to bear.

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* I borrowed the first two lines of this poem from that cinematic paean to 90s rebel youth, “Pump Up the Volume

**If this page is somehow being monitored by unseen orange forces, “Kill the bastards!” was merely an anguished cry of hubris uttered over 20 years ago, not an declaration or admission of premeditated crime…

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Featured image is my own amalgamation of some of the greats in my poet’s corner, whose images were lovingly borrowed from the accompanying links: Ginsberg, Giovanni, Pope, Wilde, and Dickinson.

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