I only want to do what’s verifiably foolish
I only care to run in pouring rain
To climb and fall whatever
Fingertips seared in pain
Slice my skin and ridicule my folly
Normal days are death and worry
This does not work for the Geist
So I live alone, god damn me
But what I needed was a concerned onlooker
A woman who’s warnings I could defy
Wry smiling, chest forward, a smiley-toothed white grin ringed in dirt
A baby to throw into the air and teach the thrill of the fall
A mother to shriek and bite her scarf mid-flight
And then sigh with relief at my son’s laughter at having tempted fate and won
What a glory, a son.
But no danger is permitted in this world
The mother can just leave – that bitch of contagious fear in this soft, this weak
A world of overpowered cunts on parade
Violent murder of what men are made
His wet hair in her talons, bludgeoning the savior’s skull against sharp concrete artifice
All the while a call for protection as her king bleeds out his confusion
And the men too: now they shriek in hopes of wetting their shriveled cocks
Foolishness outlawed, fear it’s jailor, death by weakness
This is your future–enjoy, you unknowing idiots of modernity.
May your bones be future’s concrete.