How I met the author of the fundaments

I endorsed an enormous error—
there was a mystic on my doorstep.
I showed him the light
which lie broken in my den.
He said, “I will fix it,”
and barged in drunk—
he advertized his team
but never his conviction.
“I am homeless,” he said.
Replied I, “Aren’t we all.”
He authored the fundaments,
he said. “Forsake,” I pled
kneeling by his nethers:
the stench of aristocracy
never met this man—
he was a cultist in demand
when all the seriousness
of millenialism dried in:
“I will raze Gomorrah,”
he said—then said I,
“I will raise the dead.”
Tequila—a few beads
on the hedonic calculus,
a peculiar mathematic—
“who goes first,” I said.
“Whoever gives the head.”

~ by Jeremy on July 3, 2013.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: