A charlatan’s monologue

“Divorce thyself, brute!
Speak to no one save the truth:
I am a brain stem wholly unfit
for the academy of nature,
or societies of dogs—
(health is the keenest fantasy
we neurotic primates boil in)
fit for long-passed centuries,
if even them,
mired in my own gullet
which speaks of heathenry.
The orderings of disorder:
whole idols them! Nothing
contempts the loner
like his ethic and himself,”

replies meager Calaban starved
and gaunt these last few days.


~ by Jeremy on June 5, 2013.

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