Dicks with dick-shaped weapons

pointed at each other in a silly

display of hidden inadequacies.

Zero trust between insignificant

members of the same species born

from identical molecules and matter,

yet the first instincts of a troubled

evolution control their timid minds.

Withhold prayer for the human race,

for no button shall ever be pressed.



“Stupid Old Man”

Take bets on when this wrinkled monstrosity

will drop dead and leave us all alone for once.

Put me down for a trifecta in case the next three

days don’t work out like that strange lady with

the crystal ball and large feet had predicted.

Standing with his hand up his ass and the other

gripping the remote like a dumb son of a bitch,

he flips through every channel ten times over

as if expecting the scores to change in one second,

pouting like a little boy without pacifier when

someone questions his sanity or takes the

clicker from his hand to save all humanity.

Good lord I can’t wait till this bastard drops dead.



“Soul and Substance”

Wandering aimless in the woods to the north,

I stumbled upon the floating forlorn fairies.

Squishing their leader with an accidental stomp,

I apologize to the remaining few who laugh with joy.

Bewildered by their bashing buffoonery so bold,

I inquire to their sanity and substance and soul.

Rearranging the corpse with a twig from the forest floor

they shout in unison with fingers pointed, “there is his soul!”

And as I vomit the violence away I see the substance

of their mockings floating to the heavens above,

snickering gouls giggling at my expense as their

once grand leader ascends to nowhere in particular.