Mad Cow Revival

This could be the age
when the masses rise up gleefully
to write romantic poetry

all signs are power pointing
to a great awakening

imaginations are leaping 
off the cliffs of reason

voices are shrilling

mad cows mooing

souls are speaking fever dreams
head banging reality
performing fruit loops, hand stands
and pirouettes

fools are crying in the wilderness
flocking into the streets
shopping ’til they drop
disconnecting the dots
extrapolating moon shots
in deep state of the art
haiku memes
invidious elegies
inhumane manifestos
soapbox allegories
cynically hatched plots
Alpha-bet soups
booyah broth from A to Q

a disembodied slumgullion 
of paradise lost
and democratic vistas
composed in free verse invective
grand old poetics
antiquated limericks
insensitive bullshit
unhinged psychobabble
and mad oratories
slammed at tent revival parties
by a new breed of bard
defending the indefensible
dry-humping nihilism
fondling patriotism
making off-kilter pronouncements
courting supreme injustices
swamping Florida
kneecapping Georgia
back-stabbing Kansas
bitch-slapping Texas
jack-booting Idaho
screwing Wisconsin
beheading Philadelphia
taking pot-shots at sanity
and tossing Lady Liberty
on the loony bin of history
where she sits in shambles
singing God Bless America
while the people wonder…

Who will deliver us from evil?



Premium Bullshit

That’s it!
I’m maxed out.
Had it up to here
with petty chirping
about cholesterol counts,
pet food recommendations,
cable TV bills,
and garage sale dramas
about worthless crap 
cleaned out of basements
then sold on the internet 
to some poor schmuck
who didn’t know any better.

I don’t want to be pestered anymore
with dull monologues by cranks 
caught in their own feedback loops
who think my purpose in life is to be their audience.

I can’t stand to hear anymore repetitive gripes
about how you got screwed out of a promotion
by some back stabbing weasel
or whining about the wife not loving your dog,
how effed-up everything is,
how much you drank last night,
and the stoner woes of your adult children. 

I’m sick of all the sanctimonious handwringing
over the sad state of the world.
The Middle East?
How about the middle finger!
I’ve been hearing about that pissing contest
since I was a child,
way before insane suicide bombers and hijackers
started clogging up the headlines
with their blood feud tribal fanaticisms.

Can we check some of this shit off the list?
Stop talking about it?
Are you really that full of it? 
Don’t we all have enough problems as it is?
Can’t we just dispense with the bellyaches?

I’m exhausted by the barrage of boring bullshit
and tedious mumblings that pass for conversation.
I’m tired of hearing about the deer you shot 
in the 5th grade for the umpteenth time,
your lame half baked schemes for fixing the world,
your addled reasoning, circular rambling,
and misadventures in stupidity.

From now on I’m only interested in premium bullshit.
Stories that swing for the fences.
Make me laugh ’til it hurts.
Rip my guts out with glee.
I want to hear about far-fetched conspiracies
that involve millions,
UFO abductions at Walmart,
underground space alien colonies on the moon,
obscure meaningless minutia with global implications,
rock ’n roll trivia that never happened,
dead pool probabilities,
Magic Christian pranks,
implausible scenarios,
whacked insanities,
mind games, escapades, and stunts,
rambunctious banter,
nonsense,
horse sense,
mental graffiti,
fantastic tales of sex on Ferris wheels,
unbelievable exploits not shackled by facts,
and no, I don’t want to hear what you’d do with the money
if you won the lottery.

The world needs more premium bullshit,
batshit crazy stuff.
Ordinary bullshit isn’t working.
The daily news is killing us.
It’s a steaming pile of horseshit.
Just give me the premium bullshit.