Slippery Slope [new poem]
The days roll by
showering down
around my ears
like dutiful confetti
at a shotgun wedding
while my flamethrower
of unfulfilled retardant
dreams engulfs them all
in oxygen-starved nostalgia
Then when the cat
crawls out of the bag
we are found to have
NOTHING of ANY value
to the non-temporal lobe
of externality laughing its way
to the bank of immaturity while
love was on compassionate leave
We wallow in our
imagined self-importance
flies in a disused cemetery
wondering where the scent
of all decaying flesh originates
like those believing in some god
whose testicles have never dropped
Our arrested
development
finds us whooping
with delight over every
worthless bandwagon which
summons us to bow before a
speck of nothingness derived
from weights we should have left
behind us long ago tho none survived
The subtle scent
of diapers on steroids
wafts across these pages
like a stair-gate for babies
without a hope of growing into
something one can stride across with
ease for all that I can see through both
sides of my telescope is lemmings plunging
off a cliff (attaining only statuses of wannabes)
No doubt
you’ll tell me
I’m a pessimist
who passed his cell
by date decades ago
4 real I’m just a bigamist
who’s married off to Neptune
and to Jupiter because its Moons
needed a father who does not outfart the
looney tunes my other kids want me to play
Defiantly crumbling
I blast my way in one last
blaze of glory with a mouth
that’s worn itself to shreds on
life’s reluctant anvil as the world
of matter spirals out of all control
pretending that it’s spirit in disguise
although it’s always lived inside the same
old pigeonhole marked ‘Ersatz’ on the card
(and if you turn it over there is written in the
smallest print that “Evil is as evil does no matter
how it masquerades”) as every tiny particle of light
by bare necessity then fades and silence thus ensues
and all the ingénus and ingénues (there’s only ever two)
pretend the boat they’re in will never sink for carefully they
placed it on a fence like kids who cover up their eyes and say
“You cannot see me” which when one’s a child is sweet but not
with hairy legs and vulva it becomes the butt of every cosmic joke
and soon the sleeping giant will have been woke from slumber fixed
by angels under their restraint and then the world becomes acquainted
with its natural end and all these words will thus disintegrate and very few
will comprehend that darkness is a convenient tool devised ’fore time by Light
(and isn’t a creative oversight) & time itself will bend beyond its means as shrieks
will splinter the sound of cliffs like heaps of rubbish in the dark of black hole chasms
cosmic spasm nothingness — unless they’d rather flourish in a wall-free clean eternity.
© Alan Morrison, 2020
The Naked Troubadour 
Jul 4, 2020 at 12:23 am
Very interesting slide into the chosen reality of ever. We’re only just beginning to hit the skids. Hanging onto Love is the only way to keep the landing right. A challenging, mind-y poem! Thank you!
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Jul 4, 2020 at 12:33 am
Intelligent comment from you as usual, Debra. Very few will jive with this. Too afraid of “negativity”. But things are going to get much worse before they get better…
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