Abstract Diatribe

The earth is wet.

We make our way in this

thawing marsh of crimson

haunted by memories,

inundated with fleeting smiles

(half grins polished over gaped mouths)

Full of shit.

 

Trudging through the herd

each individual appropriately labeled

costumed, and socially binding-

writhing against the tepid

bravado of our worth.

 

Instinctually anxious

to cast a sheen

over this sooted image

of humanity, all

for the sanctity

of our glorious culmination.

 

God damned, and desperate

gifted intellectuals-

fascinated with trivial endings

for our tribe of

narcissistic, fractured children

(each marginally insane).

 

Yet we are the greatest rationale

conceived from nothing;

and through all its worth

we are exulted.

Relating our acts

To divinity-

And not pigs.

 

–––– Jonathan Renfield

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