Your Apocalypse Beckons

between love and hate is nothing but indifference
the self absorbed rotisserie of the soul.

now, never mind that cold, duplicitous, intent
of unctuous, aging, strap online cunts
busily lusting texts with networking kindred’s progeny.

no, your gig is spaced between football afternoons
and friday evening mixers
little ones clamoring about requiring something called love
that you heard about, once upon a time,
under a table after many Jacks on ice
from a soft voiced blur later moisturizing your face
with a slippery tentacled musky octopus grasping for your last breath
as if it already had an expiration date past due
followed by a treacherous dance of arbitrary agendas
while smearing on a coat of diamond back lip gloss.

your gradual submerging into that pot of boiling afterbirth
becomes the tendency to waste life during
weekday dream death and weekend whiplash
practicing high wire acts while unplugging the give a damn.

picture a streetwise instigator turned after work
paraplegic in piss stained polyester
puking guts into public walkways and crawling back in for a
 ”I’ll have another, need one more for the ride home right?”

meanwhile back at the enabling chamber
little ones scream while soundly thrashed within an inch of their beauty
aging them like made for TV serial killers
by desperate, retentive, intoxicated compulsives with the,
life’s all about making me the one the world revolves around, rue
and exacting what’s due on the platinum checking account,
mortgaged, middle class, metal box, errand running,
bulls with balls calculatingly sliced off, who
then passively pacify into the flickering glimmer of the electronic soma.

some where in the distant foggy mental half life
was a throbbing heart laid on a chopping block
now ripe for 3 piece blood sucking negotiators stalking the college fund
and rotten nest egg while later rendezvousing with soul vacuums
doing their serpentine lip crawl under the neon hue.

after all the sparks fly and the trauma sets in, there’s only 20/20
and the long wait for the inevitable while you watch your
chip of the ol chopping block on America’s Most Wanted.

take heart confused one as at this point,
you’re looking at the catatonic state of dis union.
Of thee I sing.

 

 

Written by Scott Schoffstall
© January 18, 2011
all rights reserved
Poetic Sojourn

This is NOT a Poem

Today is much like any other
that’s the problem
I want change but have no way
of affecting it

I have lost one today
one that I love
there is no way they’ll
let me have her
they think me unfit
but only in their closed eyes
and biased preconceptions

I’m better than her
current state by far
I would love her
I would cherish her
I would tell her the truth

they use her
abuse her
lie to her to
get what they want
out of her
they care not what
it does to her
yet they’ll leave her
with them because
that is the accepted norm
and officially stamped
stereotype

the norm is bigoted
and blind to reality
they won’t change
because it’s the way
it’s always been accepted

to change and judge differently
would mean engagement
they have their processes and
beloved procedures to make sure
that doesn’t happen and keep
them paid without involvement

times now are virulently wanton
what they believe no longer applies
I don’t know that it ever really did
now I know it doesn’t
I know it first hand
and it’s breaking my heart

she’s in a hopeless state
she thinks I let her down
she thinks I don’t want
her and want to give her away
she doesn’t understand that
they’re on her keepers side
even though they’re the problem
they’re the lawbreakers
and abusers causing the
trauma with no remorse
yet they’ll prefer them over me
just because of what and not who
they are
and abet the abuse to continue
all in the guise of safety
the irony is catastrophic

I’m powerless to keep her from
thinking I’ve lied to her
and don’t want her
this reality is all she’s ever known
everyone she’s ever known
calls her dumb and lies to her

she doesn’t want to change it
unless it’s with me

she says now that I don’t want her
she says now that she’s ok
it’s fear talking
fear of the unknown
stay with the devils you know
rather than the ones you don’t
to go with another besides me
would be the unknown

I have no ideas anymore
to know what to do
all I know is I have no choice but
to let it go forward because what
is now is unacceptable
even if it means I will lose her
forever
it will break my heart
my heart is already broken
but breaks daily with this

I hear she is abused
she is alone in the world and
no one believes her but me
she thinks I don’t but I do

why is it the spirit of the law
always succumbs to the letter
for the accountants of lives
under their purview
tucked safely behind their desks?

they care not about what
goes on
they have their processes and
procedures that will tell them
how to feel good without
doing good

thinking outside that box will
cause strain
mustn’t have that
it might result in good
that would tax the system
and make it implode
we would all be doomed
then because preconceptions
would fall and good things
would happen

 

 

Written by Scott Schoffstall
© January 22, 2011
all rights reserved
Poetic Sojourn

Instructions on how to win a popularity contest

welcome to the catwalk
toe up to dat chalk
we all tread our wears
but peel away the layers
sum of the plastic bubble?
hey I ain’t here for no trouble
contrive and thrive
brain dead or alive
will it survive?

examining stress levels
from daily devils
come to naught
when divining afterthoughts
of undocumented terms
it don’t make the worm squirm

instead make it up as you go along
you do it for a song
isn’t nat what it’s about?
it’s all about clout
show biz wiz
because it isn’t what it is
it’s what it seems
take it to extremes
who would know?
even better for the flow?

going through life with eyes squinted
glasses rose tinted
doesn’t sharpen the focus
bull shit hocus pocus
cuts down the scope
better than death on a rope?

what’d they say bout a blind squirrel?
you go girl
a squirrel. that’s a rodent right?
words for a fight?
can a rat splat flat if
a tongue tyin acrobat?
now that’s where it’s at
with a baseball bat

roaches scamper cross my floor
you know what rhymes with floor
looking for crumbs
fucking dumb

don’t misconstrue
a clue
2  for a dollar
shit’s getting taller

ka ching

 

 

Written by Scott Schoffstall
© January 6, 2011
all rights reserved
Poetic Sojourn