A mutant megavirus
Of no certain origin;
The beginning and end of
Everything you know.
Not merely a metaphor,
A molecular ninja
Rampantly running
Your verbal genetic machine;
Injected river of infection runs over your topsy turvy head.
Forget the sub, conscious,
Reach way up,
You can just about feel the water.
A flexibly multi-temporal
Secret assassin
Under no known orders-
A sleek killer sex machine
Invisible to all but the naked I
And whose sense of self
Can stand so cold stone nude
Hard-on apparent
In front of so many
Doctors and lawyers,
Teachers and critics.
Legions stand before the mirror each morning
And miss this opportunity.
Come right out and say it:
"Hey, bud, you got a license for that reality?"
Just fakin' it.
I suggest using a harsh chemical stripper.
Pour it on full strength, no g-string attached,
'Twill give no unpleasant aftertaste
And will leave your spiral catwalk to the stars;
Your deoxyribonucleics;
Shiny and free of undue
Magnetic attractions
To such cumbersome problems
(I mean proteins)
As "the truth."
A funny nose and glasses suit
Covers the body,
Nay, the entire multiverse-
BOGUSOMA,
In all its quirky contradictoryness,
Simultaneously eats, shits,
Creates and destroys
Everything
(you know that's right)
And everything that is
Of course
(Seriously)
WRONG.
Right in between
Is a crack
Along the cranium.
BOGUSOMA calls out
To astronomers everywhere
Whose cerebral slits remain
As yet not completely overpaved.
Your instrument is fine.
WD40BOGUSOMA
For de svivel of de svpherical.
Moped rocket fuel;
No way to tell you;
Listen like a mofo;
There is a bright starry trickle;
Jump in the gene pool and SWIM.
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