So you want to be a poet?

Burn, in stead of the innocence you seek preserved,
though it will not help with flow or diction
innocence will be what you fought for, in the end
when all the rest is history and all the motion fiction

Be a runt, ruminate, feel the creep of febrile, sickly thoughts on your spine
Whisper a loud syncope into a murmuring asshole madly mooning
Give blow jobs to trees and while rubbing shoulders with the devil,
do smell all the secrets of the sunflowers swooning

Relish the earned pittance or remittance, if any,
blow holes through the pockets of pants that don't fit
rebel, like Rilke, Pessoa and Faust
but never like Neruda must you ever submit!

Doing the obvious

Fuck you, Simran, queen of the spammers
banging my inbox with news of upto 50% discount on adult diapers
windshield wipers and hired snipers who shoot anyone
up to a distance of twenty clicks, in any direction

Am I doing this obvious disservice to science to ensure it's survival?
hell no, science is just another illusion pressed against
the services of my dementia, doing the obvious

is it the only way of getting things done?

it is not science, rocket science or anything
like science, or rocket science

But I'm on a run, a jumble fun to take apart at the seams,
and it seems
I'm doing the obvious, a disservice which by all means
is an act of desperation, i mean, obviously, right?