Southern California, November 16, 2008
It’s that time again! Each year—when wild air
Spumes, raging east to west—bent, sullen fiends
(Devoid of skill, of charm, talent, note) dare,
Find means, make their mindless mark, nourish dreams.
Crushed by the world’s disdain, they drop a match
There, in the driest brush. With obscene leers,
They glory, warmed by anguish they dispatch,
As wind-lashed flames give birth to bitter tears.
They can’t create, but boy can they destroy;
They can’t earn love, but boy can they smash hearts.
There, crouched (and stiff, no doubt), reveling, buoyed
By ashes, smoke, their sole consuming art:
A puckered, blazing blood-red sun impearled—
{asshole}
The ravaged {rectum} of a scornful world.
{ember}
(11/17/08)