Sonnet 11: so far the day is gone, I don’t want it

The moon . . . is it smiling? Is it resembling

another source of revenue, another clandestine

twelfth-round pick revolving in the pale light

while reflecting the humanist godhead,

the eschatological saloon, the last chance

we’ll ever have to suck Daisy’s hairy

blonde eyeballs, her succulent vagina.

Liber! Freedom! Freiheit! We will attempt

to provide a “liberal education” to these

musselmen but sadly will pathetically fail.

Concentration camps of the green light,

“the orgastic future”[1] that promises to be lived,

will process anthropomorphic chum in vast

quantities. We might vote this year. Why would

we not?


[1] F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (New York: Scribner, 2002), 180.

Advertisements

One thought on “Sonnet 11: so far the day is gone, I don’t want it

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s