Fickle

The world is full of fuck, just itching for an erection-

American Perversion

taking the world by storm.

A child wonders at their father
‘Does everyone feel this disgusting?’

Pederasts reading scripture
beside chain smokers violently coughing into the obits.

Nervous murmurs of tepid thoughts
making their way with vacant stares

masked behind credit card blinders.

Looming palms edge the highway as manicured street-lamps

where mounds of earth dot the landscape

like ancient crypts of the sun

rusts a chain-link fence surrounding Fortune 500s

The richer they are the cheaper they feel,
I can’t wait to put in my resume.

Junky preaching the glory days of smack on the corner of 52 south,

nervously chewing his fingers, then

hungrily lapping at the blood spilling from their wounds

as the sky’s anger subsides into a quiet winter’s grey.

Old world religions clinging to remember when’s,

Kurt Cobain wannabe’s, and everyone’s a veteran

on veterans’ day.

Middle-aged speakers hang in a large ventricular sky,

muted-

resembling old television sets quietly reserved for seniors on geriatric night

who descend further into the back with low, sullen eyes

unable to carry a suspecting truth

which has left them

fermented and sallow

heavy with nostalgia-

whose voices cackle accusations of events forever burned into their hearts.

—-Jonathan Renfield

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