Battler, cage-rattler,
hero of the minor skirmish;

let us sing praises
for his small bloodsheddings.
Let us sacrifice
a mouse in his honor.

Fighter for the right to be right,
soldier of trivial fortune;

let us raise hankerchiefs
in his colors.
Let us weep openly
at his tiny scabs.

Warrior of grammar,
defender of the detail.
Corrector of facts,
last man standing
on the field of struggle
for what comes right
of the decimal point.
Armored saintlet.
Battered ram.
Scowling, snarling,
snarking war-troll
of destruction and
annoyance —

let us unblock him,
let us defend him
from defriending,
let us watch
from the sidelines
as he steps where no one
cares to tread —

for this is where we live now,
and he’s all we’ve got
to pretend with.

Sun, candle quite ordinary
for this neck of the galaxy.

Earth, just far enough away
not to burn.

Air, adequate at the moment
for growth and life.  

Enough
water for the same.  

All these
mediocracies aligned, and you

want to claim as a result
the most exalted position

in the entire universe? 
Try to be serious.

That title belongs
to the sand-lemurs of Arcturus 7.

When we try to tell them that,
they can’t stop laughing.  That’s why

they’re so beloved.  That’s why
we gave them the title.

Find your motivation

Learn to 
dance
sing
fake tears on cue
fake a fuck
handle a gun

Learn lines
Enunciate

Die convincingly

It’s like living except
in living
you may not find motivation and
you frequently
bump into furniture

Bell?
Yes. Mouth water?
Yes.
Food? Yes…
yes?

Yes.

Screen changes?
Yes.  Red number under
“Notifications?” Yes.
Mouth water?  Yes.
On my status? Yes…
yes?

Yes?

Oh.

More vitirol this time?
Cute puppy pic this time?
Link to controversial article this time?
Yes.  Red number under
“Notifications?”  Yes.
Bigger number? Yes?
YES! More mouth water?
YES! More vitirol?
YES! YES! YES!

Feeling hungry?
Feeling
full of YES! YES! YES! 
like James Joyce?
Like a writer?
Like a person of interest?
Like sitting up?
Like rolling over?
Like fetch? 

epic fail
no 1 knowz how 2 read

thts not tru
teh revolutionz just nds less space
these dayz

fk em if thy cnt take a joke
teh revolutionz likes to lol
kill yr. idolz if thy r not lol
if thy cant dance

thy r going omg crzy
bcuz
this war nds fewr vowels
or complt wordz
dont need em

if we r to survive
we must haz cheezburger
hashtags n memes
we must spel differently
keep r idols off balance
keep noyz down
keep it short n sweet

dont need more thn enuff
to be in touch
and nderstand
each other

kthx

I am this morning so self-confident!  
Have eaten white grapes of surety!

Drunk
on the wine of “Attentive To My Own Needs”
I leap the hurdles, crash doors of sand
and grit, go through to comfortable rooms
that may not have been meant for me…
I am so uncaring of that now!  

This is
my self-esteem addicted to “getting away with it!”
High school antic immortal forging ahead!

I’m going to make a status update in diamond plate
that will bear up against bullets and false witness!

If you wanted mystery, fog, melancholy, 
realism — not here!  

I’m an open children’s book,
read me, snuggle to me, fall as asleep as I will
so, so soon, in the arms of schizo-attractiveness,
in the arms of my robot lovers,
certain of the good intentions of the universal grasp
of obvious, of simple, of gathered wisdom;
pucker for me!

Kiss me kiss me kiss me!
KISS ME I’M GOAL-ORIENTED!
Kiss me!

I shall achieve exactly as I define!

Indeed, I am in the place of definitions
and I shall not change a thing!

They go to war over a word or two,
sharing their opinions and
an unwillngness to bend.

When no one’s looking,
they fire off an angry word or two
about this trivia at close hand —

and then they spit into the wind
and end up damp and vile and mad
over a word or two that no one heard,

yet again.

It’s been decreed
by important people
that we cannot speak of anything
except our own
experiences.  Cannot speak
of others’ lives.  Cannot
put ourselves into their shoes
unless they are non-living
or at the least non-human.  
Cannot speak, in fact,
of anything at all except
what we know directly
within the context of
what happens to us day to day —

which is why I find myself
stapled to this very irritated elephant,
holding a relic from the Crusades,
wearing the mask of a politician,
and trying desperately to learn
a foreign language.  All I wanted 
was to be myself, be a poet,
and I tried to do that
but I got sick of trying to use
my painful inner life
and outer utter drudgery,

so I decided that if 
I could not be
that poet,
I’d be
their poet.