Just the Trivial Details

I have found the charade
In the backwater house
Where I feebly write beatitudes, feet in the tub,
Consumed by fake love in systems of night,
Wrapped in a fire I don't care to touch:

The lost shall stay lost! Don't deny it isn't so.
There's no help coming.
We're on the roof all our lives.
I can see the sunset but do nothing to stop it.
The Green Earth dies a little in my eyes.

I don't know what I'm good at
Or so the choir sings
And I don't know what I'm good for
Or so the choir knows
And it fast changes to thinking I'm good for nothing
Or so the choir shows.
I might have tried jumping from the Universe
But I heard there's no gravity in space to get out.
And therefore my house is filled with junk,
Copious refuse from hell.
No one will let me find them.
I'm covered in bees.
My storm doors don't hold,
My oven doesn't work,
I have chlamydia and my birds ran away.
I'm stuck in a Nicholas Cage,
Looking for the Renaissance renaissance
But I have found no clues for where to dig.

There's nothing to hold back,
Now the veil has fallen
And the miserable bride's become artifact.
I hate Noah's arc for where it left me.
My wooden cabin home holds skis and mounted fish;
There are empty bird houses, old board games,
And three Bibles that have been opened too much.
The rain falls when the sun shines.
It makes no sense.
There's nothing to do.
Twiddle your thumbs.
We're all deterministic nightmares headed for shore.

So globalize my ass, all the insincere fucks!
The day is an anchor that sponges up hope.
I'll do away with it all someday
When my pot runs out of knowing
And my dog finally turns on me.
That will be the end because I'll be so frustrated.
After I'm gone, keep playing 'Halo'
And making dips with a base of mayonaise.
If Jesus comes back tell him I waited
But left five minutes before he came.

These are my beatitudes - simple and few,
The lonely thoughts of a once desperate man
Who peaked into the abyss and didn't like what he saw -
Mostly it was nothing, but thats scariest of all.
Satan was there too, I'll admit,
And must I tell you he was sitting in a chair,
Smoking a pipe and reading a book.
I think it was something by Cormac McCarthy,
He didn't laugh. You knew he was thinking.
Regardless, its nice to know Satan is an intellectual.

Ah, but these are just the trivial details...
Reform healthcare or Goddamn you all.


08/09