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(this is the stupidest poem ever and the linebreaks will prob be totally messed up but happy NaPoWriMo all!)


April is the cruelest of the Most Cruel Months month

It’s the schmoo with a mullet who ruined my junior prom that I didn’t want to go to anyway

April is a mope

April is a mood

It’s the moo

It’s the fucking moo

It’s the stirring mixing clutching breeding for which I am so not ready
The branches branching and roots clutching and cute snowdrops breeding
And tubers
Fucking tubers
And fucking lilacs
And omg stop with the old gray snow and dead rain
And cruel mopeds
Fucking cruel mopeds loud in the loud sunshine for which I am really not ready

Bring back the hermetic chillness under blankets with oatmeal because it turns out
“Watermelon Sugar” now means eating pussy — so just stop

Stop all the stirring
Or how about a little drowning with all the stirring?
How about a little drowning of the sweaty faces in the stony places acting like stupid vaxholes posting selfies from Cancun?

And stop all the Death undoing
All the Death undoing with cruel unstoppered unguents, strange synthetic perfumes troubled confused and flung into the dancery forming more Earth and more roots and more fucking and desire and lilacs

Don’t forget the dead fucking rain even though I was here for it before when all the windows were closed and I had oatmeal and protective forgiving chillness

And the acid rain

Acid rain and the withered stumps the chuckles canals and gashouses the whores morons and twits a welcome indifference to whining mandolins fucking my people my humble people my beneficent spiders fucking my lean solicitors and everything fucking the life out of everything just fuckest me the fuck out already

And omg the acid-wash jeans

Acid-wash jeans are back and Katy Perry is wearing them and it’s The Worst Women in Menswear Moment of All Time, not counting all the women in their fifties named Sherry in pleated acid-wash jeans and candy striped shirts at monster truck rallies in Illinois yelling “Go Ricky! Smash that goddamned motherfuckin’ Buick!”

If you can’t do anything else then just take the fucking mandolins out hurry up please it’s time

6 thoughts on “Cruel

  1. It’s the fucking moo!

  2. More mope than mood or mood than mope? Oh Sherry, hold on.

    1. HA!!! Steve Perry!!!!

  3. oh my god this is FANTASTIC! I am applauding this poem.

  4. I was wondering what watermelon sugar meant!

  5. why do we do this to ourselves

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