Improv 1 - 5

1.  Go and tell your people

they can go fuck themselves.

You are an insult to your country,

your parents,

even your god.

Have you any context

of the Old Testament?

Have you ever read

Judges 19?

Do you know of the church

beyond communion wine?

You are the type of person

who doesn’t wipe their shoes

while passing  another’s threshold.

You are a hypocrite,

a hate mongering

daddy issue ridden

homunculus scum.

  

2.  I want to be singled out.

I want to be punched, feel a stone hand.

I want to hear a lonely steel pedal note and weep.

I want to smell fake cinnamon.

I want to feel love for her again.

I want to stop lying to myself.

Clear nights breed tragic thoughts,

and too many cigarettes breed gravity.

3.  He was the man always behind the camera, so

I never knew what my grandfather looked like

when my father was a child.

Did he have a beard, or a goatee when he leaned

to get a perfect shot?

Did he play guitar at home after work?

I doubt I will ever know.

4.  Music is becoming to drag on me. Bore me.

repeats itself a monotonous Gmaj, Amin, Emaj.

Even the plants sway to the memory of the once original

Pachelbel’s Cannon.   

Even I have no originality, the six strings

grate and bellow the same pentatonic chorus

of blue’s past.

My father taught me as a boy to play guitar, I still need to learn.

5. Strip down the rye,

to the fungus,

to the ergot.

Taste, color, odor

all nonessential,

easy to confuse.

Keep your sanity

on your coat rack,

less you want to forget it.

Pack only the basic laws of the universe,

and let C₂₀H₂₅N₃O recompose existence.

Lysergic acid diethylamide, Jude’s new play thing.