God’s one fuck up
is assholes. Not your full moon
but the two
sitting beside you.
And the one behind
the invisible one
coming towards you
with a sword.
Literally all over
the landscape. Asshole City.
The Town of Asshole.
The Hamlet. The hostel.
The hordes from the Asshole Mall
inked to the tits w/butt-cheeks.
Your sphincter tightens in self-defense.
You brace yourself
for the onslaught of shit
that follows the wake of these assholes.
Big. Tall. Doesn’t matter.
Cute ‘n pretty sells you stock.
Or tries. And in your least discernible moment
you’re tempted to buy but why be an asshole?
We mock ourselves enough. Do we need that brand too?
I guess. Seems like the whole team’s buying into
the dumb-down. The super-sized soda and fries.
The weekend license to watch w/o charge
all your favorite asshole shows. One after the other.
Like a marathon. Like the march of the wooden soldiers
w/o Geppetto’s string this time,
but chains. Links of ignorance and vice.