to the poles and graft in dirty old man

there are many ways
man fools himself
to live forever

caught in boyhood games
and fantasies
the forever-child, calmed
by tools that harden

evermore a way
to purr and glean
to see oneself as something
pez-dispenser clean

the purpose
it must have a purpose!
the climb to structured angst
relief
oh how does one conclude
that man is more
than beef?
than crude and crass
in ways?

for if he’s not, he must be gay?
oh how to form a better
song
for man – the oaf can do no wrong
forever
in the spy glass
fear of death that paralyzes
all of brain and leads
him into thinking
if his dreams are youth
then naught is sinking…
death has no
retreat

yet for the fool who as a man
adult
keeps women in their
sights as meat – as forms
to poke and prod

i know not what to give
when empty is the
purpose, so

when life is such depleted
from the one thing
that would seat a man
as proud

and that is not a stick
a flow of sap

no … proud is he
that owns his need
as consequence

holds himself in state
of that which crafts and breathes
and dreams
creates…

not rampant
rutting
all the while
the smart the oafish hopes
of naughty naughty child
and what to be?

such scopes
of immaturity
i have no way to squeeze a mind
impress upon all man
that lost in forever days
delusions of skin
that never ages — keen

oh how, oh how?
to give the message of
what is the crass of old men
dirty, run
just run along and play?
hell no
there is no room today
and where you trod your feet

i say one thing
it is not sin nor lack of sin
not any type of moral
thing or worth
no … but when man
matures he undergoes a sake
of bold and set
of mind and birth

if you have not
then such has not matured
is stuck and so does not
deserve respect

a child yet … do you doubt
none know this? well
there is no adult need
to bow to adult-child
you see?
and if it’s all the same
some what
and to
and for
behind the closed
and beaten door

then oh, fair well!
thee well … how to proclaim
that man himself is doomed, then
a rose by any other name
a smell of sweet
of dearth and doom
how far to go when none
and none are long beyond the
grasp
of worshiped boom?

all that undergo have underwent
and when your time is done
your seed is spent
what shall you see as left
as right
as pure as bleed?

what soul contrary?
what heart, what man
of earth, divined
stone and stone of creed?

how do we for such sakes
declare that love is blind?
is ever further lost
there is no greater pain
than seeing one
so daft,
insane! and trapped
as boy and boy
and boy

never the man
because a fool can live forever
fear shapes every tool

where man is brought
is low

and lower, still
what brain of little know

harmed upon the efforts
of his back
that work is so reduced
that mind is so denounced
as necessary
only preying counts
but what of prayers? has man
become so less?

i think not
and no
i know some still exist
mature
and tall
of greater mind

and so the particles
of earth
of that which holds the
key
to knowing man is all he
ever was
and will be
hope

is not a goal
struck in a tower
the grave is not a message
no!
time is but a trap
within the hour the days
and notes
of bloat and greed

therefore i ask that man himself
should realize
that need is not a rut
for what can rutting do? but bury
souls in habit
through and through … the nun?
the all-immersed
true man knows truer curse

therefore i do not worry for i know
the spoil

and spoil is when the feed
is rich

therefore the clean adjust
dirt poor to dirt

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