Friday, March 11, 2016

Ecco lo fico

What can one do in the end but be rude
To mock and defy omnipotent jest?
We've been consigned, if we're like each other,
Whether we like or dislike each other,
Whether we give a windmill's fart ourselves
About how much we dislike each other,
To have to desire and crave and hunger
What? Something to do with the wonderful
World, some reason to chase one another.
We're that many games in search of our rules

That it rarely occurs to us we are
Such fools as rules are made of and such fools
Deliriously prancing beyond rules,
Gods of misrule who are part of the rules.
Oh, fuck it. There's nothing much left someone
Won't feel compelled by some form of belief,
Even if only housekeeping, to trash.
The rude and the obedient remain
To shade exquisite chiaroscuro, 
Rubbing the real, eternally charcoal.

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