Postmodern Pandemonium


Okay you caught me.

It’s true.
My form isn’t typical.
I’m not an iambic-centric
wannabe Shakespeare in a box.

I’m not.
My poetic rigmarole,
though sloppy as wasted alcoholic fever,
is composed of entirely (mostly) original parts.

Kind of like sunshine when it hurts,
or truth in a church,
or absolutes in the earth,
or mirth in a world-shaped
dearth of confusion.

Long nights,
something worth remembering;

cigarette smoke ecstasy;

don’t let these words live as just
a temporal revelry.

We’re rock n’ rollers
trying to make a name for ourselves
in a city-scape
intent on rectangular skyscrapers
weary-eyed commuters,
system-savvy looters,
soul-less losers
and de-bugged, pristine, computers

I may be a virus in your hard drive,

but you needed to replace
that Vista crap

Willie Watt


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