`mmmdcclxxxv

Might I Bother You For
The Quickest Route To
Da Nihil?

oh, hopeless romantics,
what is the opposite of
you? to not know the
answer, does it make
you blue? boo hoo,
me, too. what’s a
fetish without a fan
tasy? who gets to win
in the land of no games?
what is distance, a mile?
a nautical mile? without
sportsmanship? is all i’m
saying.
no. not true.
can it ever be?
at least, that is,
while the ol’ mortal coil
isn’t kaput? oh, con
trarian, can you not 

help me get there? 

once you stretched 

your limbs out just enough
to undo a joke by adding
a tablespoon of sarcasm,
how long would it be until
you’d conquered the world?
now that you’re the emperor
of cynicism, well, of course,
you won’t breathe a word
about it. granted, the
end of cynicism is
quicker, assuredly.
but just a little help
here, do you mind
ever so, your
honor?
it’s not
a treasure
map i’m after,
just a hint, a nudge
in the right direction.
wouldn’t it be ideal?
as conqueror of all,
oh mighty cynic,
might you enlighten
with your five-year plan?
i know what’s the matter,
man. i catch your drift.
it’s just that, well, since
i can’t make your head
explode with such impudent
imploring, then who are you,
really, and where is my king?
because everybody knows that
the end of cynicism is sheer
synapselessness. snap snap,
sardine king. hunger’s meager,
isn’t it, once you look toward
tomorrow, and is obliterated
if you shove your thoughts
too hastily towards the
the day after that.
kaboom!
too soon?
but what a reign!
oh how long the
parade shall be,
for me, the king of
optimism! so bow down
(or curtsy, if you prefer).
and dither not. for the
man with the plan has
become infected, as
anyone living through
such a reign of terror,
even as brief as it was,
would be. the future
is bright, however.
trust your new master,
it’s a disaster. one does
not need omniscience to
discern that all directions
lead to a bright and white
hot suture. some water, please,
all these words have me parched.
what i meant to say, of course,
was enigmatic, what, future?
the witch is dead, dingdong,
so come now and quickly,
i might need your ass
istance. let us presently
as one and together
wipe every horizon
clean out of
our heads.