Why load a gun with blank bullets?

A group of what the oldest men among us
would call hoodlums ask this, and I
mean to reply after a fashion. Why
load a gun with blank bullets, or
have a one-cannon army dressed in the nude?
Many reasons. Plenty reasons. One:
billions would resume their jobs to do,
consuming billions without stratagem.
Three times the suicide in five-foot
tall boys’ rooms, and no one to clean up.
Purgings like rude Stalin him, only
from a neglected boy’s stomach.
Good lord dines on carrion, now, does he?
And oh, the drugs. I’ve a habit
of telling about habits at length,
from depressants many them to the wakings
one could have for days upon days,
the brains freaked like the strongman for it.
It is madness from there for which there is
no curative, in case you wanderer you
contemplative as the excited mammal
performs its jumping off perfectly,
from mouth to nostril to wriggling vein
done had its fill of your ignorant brain,
it is madness. Know this fully and dare
to doubt. Exogeny and a morose being
dose themselves so silly you’ll prefer
no comedy on the planet to show your ass
for what it is, or could be. I speak at length
on the matter. Notice this simplicity.
I resume. Two: how is it a black Ghanian
will write an apotheosis of literature
that convinces one the pages themselves suffer,
but the sexual crowd in a poor boy’s head
doesn’t convince the sexual crowd in another’s?
I, young man me, would pronounce violence
if I had it in me. I would hum out Stonewall.
Instead I announce the guns are empty.


~ by Jeremy on May 27, 2012.

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