A bigot whom bigots despise

I’ll tell you about myself
for this instant you’ll listen,

though we are strangers
and I am flighty as a child.

If prose is the democrat’s verse
then I am the refuse

of all failed civilizations.
I am twenty one and strange

as another century Pessoa
said we’re covetous of,

lonely as any body
is in the high-faced tide,

disgruntled, maladjusted,
neurotic as the adult

wild Plato dreamed up.
I tire of taking my meals

of conventional wisdom
and playing with my food.

I am lazy as an old-world Catholic
and godless as a pew-bird,

a broad in man’s skin
and distant from the species,

no friend to the greats
who died as the rest of us do,

a bigot whom bigots despise,
a scorner of the good life

that Rome buried alive,
crooked and dispossessed,

a baby with hairy legs
whose mother is dying

faster than I am—
my kingdom is marginal

and I am well-read enough
to believe anything true

that isn’t. I think falsehood
is above all else sincere.

I am a small man among
a multitude of small men.

~ by Jeremy on June 12, 2013.

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