Objectivist Free Will Bootstrap Nightmare

 

Objectivist Free Will Bootstrap Nightmare

Last night I dreamed

Rand Paul walked up to me

as I sat working at my desk,

in his suit and wide red tie,

curly hair oiled

like a delicate machine.

He tipped up my chin, grasped it firmly

and planted a kiss on my lips

while I froze.

"My god," I whispered,

"I've kissed a libertarian."

and sunk my face in my palms.

A wave of shame consumed me,

as I sat deregulated,

more broken than an oil spill;

Mr. Paul smiled a small

bomb-thrower's smile,

and walked on to the next desk.

~ January 2015

slightly revised, July 2023

old jokes posted for the desperate satirists at

desperate poets

Images/memes via internet  Fair Use

Internal Monologue ~ The Hellspawn Neighbor

Interior Monologue ~ The Hellspawn Neighbor

I curse the day my old neighbor sold his house

and let a drugstore farmer infest the block.

His waist-high grass harbors tick and flea and mouse,

a few copperheads for that cardiac paddle shock.

He came out to chew the fat and shake my hand

about the time he stopped cleaning out his swimming pool:

"We're holistically subsistence farming the land."

(must eat weeds and empty mulch bags, the damn fool.)

"I'm sorry those starving guinea hens got free--

and tore up all your flower beds like that.

Have I mentioned that I have an advanced degree?"

(was that in Freakazoid, or just Asshat?)

"..and something seems to kill off all my bees

in that hive I stuck in triple digit sun…"

(that you ignored, under dropping-limbed dead trees,

and all summer never watered even once?)

Now he's decided to mow just the front yard (half)

piles sour clippings high in giant piles.

Mosquitoes breed in his pool tarp's sagging raft

Is it wrong to hope it's him who gets West Nile?

~September 2012

Dead Hive~Note the Never-Filled Water Bottle.

Posted for   real toads

Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: The Internal Monologue

Kerry asks us to carry on an interior monologue which illuminates our feelings towards a human irritant with which we must deal. For me, that would be Idiotman next door.

VERY Optional Musical Accompaniment,

 cuz, Ten Minutes--still, a great song.

Photos © joyannjones

 

Rats

Rats

I dreamed the big storm

finally came.

The crippled tree

came through the roof.

It wasn’t bad;

it let out  all the rats,

scrambling up the

streaming branch to blow

in the screaming whirlwind.

All but the

tiniest heartheld 

within

who raised his

demon’s white snout

for an eyeblink,

then went back 

to chewing.

January 2011

55 rats plus one for the G-Man

Undelivered Letter To the Moon

Undelivered Letter to The Moon

from a shooting star

Dominitrix and nocturix

how you punish the night with flicks

of your white whip and rhythm sticks,

handcuff us to black and perform your rape

make us jump from the void in ecstatic mix

of  surrender and escape.

This is in response to Kerry's      Mini Challenge at real toads     today, where she discusses both the Burns Stanza, and the  poetry of Rhina P. Espaillat entitled "Undelivered Mail". I've tried to combine the two here, though perhaps not as purely as I could have, but this is what came. Below is the free verse fragment that I worked into the stanza, just for fun. 

To the Moon

Dominatrix and nocturix
how you punish the night
make it curl its toes and scream
handcuff the stars to a flat black table
delighting most
to make them writhe and jump
out of the sky in an ecstasy
of surrender and escape.

December 2011

Night at the Opera

Night at the Opera (buffa)

a dream sequence

The grand opera begins;

you approach with a smile,

a many wrinkled twinkle

from the plus size aisle.

Your voice and your ardor

flagrantly contest;

a woman's dry as a prune

before her ears get a rest.

In between acts, nothing

happens in this dream

so why do I wake up

always trying to scream?

December 2011

Posted for   Friday Flash 55  at the culturally acclaimed G-man's 

A pure fantasy in 55 words with no personal implications, having nothing to do with opera, men, marriage, getting old, weight gain or other nightmares, I assure you.  It's all a metaphor for...something. Poetic device. Really.

...or else it could be I just have weird dreams.

Image: Luigi LaBlanche as Don Pasquale

courtesy wikimedia commons.