DECONSTRUCTING THE DEMIURGE:
"The Gilded Index of Far-Reaching Ruin"
Even at 64 Iím learning new things. Iíve learned that thereís a pocket of flesh just below my taint that collects shit And then all day long oozes it out into my boxers. Iíve learned that if I go down on my landlady She knocks $35.00 off my board But for a straight fuck its only ten. Iíve learned that the pack of little shitheads That for the past five years have drunk forties and smoked chronic On my front stoop are either dead Or big enough to beat the shit out of me. Iíve learned that at 64 it takes longer for a broken femur and busted jaw to heal. Iíve learned that at 64 a 6í5Ē 300 pound man with a club foot, diabetes and A wired jaw is no longer intimidating. At 64 Iíve learned that if I apply the Second Law of Thermodynamics to poker My disability check dissipates at the same rate. At 64 Iíve learned the hard way that drinking is hard on my liver. Iíve learned that a fucked up liver is in direct proportion To the financial investment made in the quality of its agent Times the quantity imbibed. Iíve learned that my current diet of cold beans, fried bread and fatback causes flatulence And has cost me my ride to the track. Iíve learned that the best turf minds of my generation Can blow their entire disability check on a 60 to 1 shot. At 64 Iíve realized that the women stopped cooing ďHey, big boyĒ About 20 years ago. At 64 Iíve learned you canít get squat for combat medals on Ebay Except from slackers who use them to get laid. At 64 Iíve learned that the free drinks and pussy That used to come along with the Silver Star have long expired. Iíve learned that todayís shorties are so ahistorical That if my 25 year old wears some Banana Republic fatigues And my VSM theyíll lay some combat chickenhead on him. Iíve learned the time chicks give you is in direct proportion To how old, fat, ugly and poor you areó So I get Gitmoed. I realize I havenít fucked a woman under 50 Since the first Gulf War. At 64 Iíve realize its better to think about whatís possible Even if you draw a blank. At 64 Iíve realized that 4 pounds of ham, 2 pounds of salami, 2 pounds of gabagool, 5 pounds of baloney, 3 pounds of olive loaf, A pound of provolone, 3 pounds of American, two buckets of chicken, Four loaves of white bread and six cases of Red Dog Are not enough for 36 hours of draw poker. Iíve learned that if you crack the door a little too much, The pizza delivery guy will ask to sit in on a couple of hands And promptly draw to the inside straight And fuck up your economics for a month. At 64 Iíve learned that if you stand up at the community meet and greet And call the CEO of the power company A lying, thieving motherfucker and wave a log of blackouts, Their lawyers will send you threatening letters, Some outsource shithead will ring you up at dinner time; A company man will interrupt your nap on a Sunday Demanding you turn over company property, Anything but fix the goddamn grid. At 64 I realize that shit or get off the pot Is no longer an either or proposition. At 64 Iíve learned that daily living Is a ritual. At 64 Iíve learned I have to perfectly position myself on the edge of the bed To pull on my socks. At 64, Iíve got to remember to spit in an arc. Iíve got to remember to piss at a 45 degree angle. Iíve learned that if I donít want to shatter some dainty little thing like a tea cup Iíve got to fuck in the pushup up position Or let her bob around on top. At 64 Iíve learned that books nowadays want to be judged by their covers. At 64 Iíve learned they can fuck up the schools and jobs Faster than I can throw away the draft registration applications at the Post Office Or buttonhole kids outside the enlistment center. At 64 I realize the cats that tossed me out the do-wop group were rightó All my original tunes sound like third rate Al Greene. At 64 my performance venues have shrunk to the Rest Easy Nursing Home And the First Baptist Church of Zion Saturday Night Mixers. At 64 Iíve learned that the cat living in 4B is a Serb and not a Russki And it donít make a damn bit of difference Except now I know why he ainít shit at chess. At 64 I learned that one of my granddaughters was on Rock of Love--- And won. I learned that my parole officer had a sex change on the GI Bill And now dates a prison guard. At 64 Iíve learned that catallaxy means a "self-organizing system Of voluntary co-operation," not a Cadillac chopped with a Ford Galaxy. At 64 Iíve learned that between the peak immigration years of 1880 and 1910, The Brooklyn Bridge was sold some 40,000 times. At 64 Iíve learned that I can no longer eat my weight in cheese doodles And hope to shit before the Chinese New Year. At 64 I celebrate the Assyrian New Year, the Sikh New Year, the Korean New Year, The Tamil New Year, Diwali--- All them motherfuckers, so I can have an excuse to stay drunk Other than the obvious ones. At 64 I realize Iíve never had a stake in anything Even though all my life Iíve been a hypocrite and a dirty dog Just like my betters. At 64 I realize that if you believe the worst about the United States It gives you tremendous predictive powers At 64 I realize Iíve had just enough distractions to make me a coward. That the only way to stop these motherfuckers that was born on third base But thinks they hit a triple is to block home plate Brandishing a thirty-eight. At 64 Iíve realized that if you surf the internet from a public library For recipes for ANFO And the floor plan to the Executive Office building, Youíll get a visit from two completely humorless Mormon fucks from the FBI. At 64 Iím resigned to my bitter impotence. At 64 I sputter with exasperation But my sticks and stones are left untouched. At 64 I realize that the bottle was the way I filibustered my rashness. At 64 I realize I donít give a shit about 65 anymore than I did 63. At 64 my dream is to be ridiculed By a better class of academic stooge. At 64 I reckon Iíll leave my body of work like a smoking, radioactive turd And not clean it up.
Other installments of "Deconstructing the Demiurge"
"Crimes of Passion"
Eschatology of Reason:
Eschatology of Reason:
The poet's comments on his growing poem: