SuperNova Afterglow Spews Embers of Time

Misapplied and the Mislead

The Sardonic

Hope of Salvation?
When people pull religion on you,
apply the sharp blade
to a yielding throat, but
not sacrifice oneself with tithing
for these sloven, dirty faces
dining in life’s halls, fully loaded artillery
in lap, under table, while
sheriff’s and their jail keepers sweep,
cool in shade, mind store until
Lock or hang the miscreants
That dared disturb your dinner.
Words can purchase nooses, unless,
yeah, be whatever authority,
not give a fuck?

In frock and sash, they trouble,
confronted with unregulated lawlessness,
as the would-be-crusaders, saviors
adjacent to a Good Book, tidies at
stain-glassed station, seldom perused.
Fabled and worthy document, reminiscent
of childhood-trust-faith that now,
flat fails. Discouraged?

Knowing of the outlaw sacrilege
To place lordly dominion above the lowly
for enterprise, blasphemer…ooh, ouch!  (hate it, the word, sardonically?)
Should, agents of faith, at least
honor their father, if not spare others,
what little flock left, from what?
A mental genecide? Self-enslavement
inside note-stuffed bottle called you, and asea.
Or, just ask the ruthless, barefoot, penny less (lost something in transition here)
From offering and ask,
‘What the fuck is up with that’?
“If I don’t see you in church…
I’m telling God.” Seeing this as failure…
“Thus, Anti-heroes were born, and
the day
was not saved. But, it was a good show (Hey, cynic watchers! Yeah?
This is a higher art form. Realize,
satire from the sardonic.)

Born and bred, the stoic chew scenery,
not your Charles Barkley, with backstories
that may yet come in prequels (after reader/viewer response)
Otherwise, lean into evident, getting tired, trope, knowing
Batman, Spider-Man, Inigo Montoya.

Literature, that sees the light, is accessed,
born from minds of oppressed word crafters,
Foretelling totalitarianism, write instead of read
Russian monoliths, Orwellian and dystopian,
Authors warnings of complacency, indulging in the inane,
among the blunt instruments of history writers —
narrative-wielding, bully-pulpit, fear-mongering
‘if your not with me, you’re against me’,
and wonder why…why won’t someone sage us,
be our Ralph Nader? Helloo, won’t take ship helm (marbles).
Divided, blamed for our chasms from failing to unite,
by the whisperers (“I was never here” - really?), saying,
‘that guy was talking about you’, and then (you did not see),
turned to the other, ‘he called you a derogatory word’ —
Thus…two ignorant bulls stand off, others watch,
when (epiphany?) a movie moment could arrive —
…in place of the foretold…
ask the logical, ‘why are we fighting, anyway’?
risk lowered guard, split lip, and outcome
that could go one of two ways
to ‘devise’ a happy ending, because writers are frustrated,
Incentivized and paid, also had that near jugular slit,
carbon-based metal spirit arrival that compelled complacency.
Now, wield pen, rebel in mock society to bleed words,
cloaked possibly, to have meaning inferred. ,

There are other options than outlaw heroes or sycophants,
tired of false misrepresentations and being taxpayer doormat.
It doesn’t matter how they align, but what they serve,
while impugning what seemed like a noble cause
to rid tyranny, shelter any with any belief, note religion applied i drafted guidelines for agreement…
be chill, loyal to a new nation with ideals, instead of
jets to private islands and say, ‘oh, no, that was the other guy’…
the Epstein of it all, a facilitator
for capitalistic-wealthy-driven demeanor
that still creates a caste society by status, limits access to freedoms, laws selectively shoved down throats
by a moral-wielding edge that doesn’t answer to you,
‘one vote’, or you, ‘one vote’, and ‘don’t try to organize
in a united way’, that’s covered in a surveillance state
finger-printing faces, giving yes sir responses
as ex-military, vaulted status as guardians of the state,
misalign with clownish ideals so idiotic
that one could bury a head or two in sand
for the buffoonery being witnessed
from across the pond and beyond.

All conceivable, likely written, but
strings on puppets, the marionettes who spin words,
give us stories derived from situational stories to the surreal  …

Intermezzo Forever.
Hastas La Vista

5.11.25

Bloated? Yes, no?? Trim fat???
Nobody 2 in 3 months. More on that when dust settles.