The odds of being born as human me
are about four-hundred trillion to one
Chance of having one human orgasm
becomes zero once lifetimes are done
Poems
Still here
Alive
Awake
Breathing
fresh air
Still here
Heads-up
Honed in
Feeling
aware
Still here
Alert
Anew
Snappy
drum snare
Still here
Long-lived
Washed-out
Beat-up
old bear
I peered into the mirror and eyed my corpse,
the skull resembled Pirates of the Caribbean
I reflected 'pon landscapes of my own doom,
small wonder somewhere tropically themed
When an end 'tis near and the energy's gone,
we're not able to even lift one scrawny finger
no more filling our bellies or rubbing one out,
yes, only penned sonnets forever shall linger
Hitting poetic nails on the head
Till we're not only merely
but really most sincerely dead
Here you are folks 'tis our poem of the week,
now sonneted special for a premodern freak
opining 'til blue-faced as science impossible
stuck in the past of olden facts irresponsible
My cock wants me to touch it
He's a one-eyed bird cheeping
alone in his small sad cage
My knob thinks all for himself
He's a one-eyed snake stalking
spunk for gratification
My love worm creeps secretly
He's a one-eyed slug leaching
lust for self-medication
My meat whistle begs stroking
He's a cyclops on steroids
monstrously making trouble
My skin sword must be conquered
He's a one-eyed Norse chief god
turning goodness against me
My dick wants me to feel it
He's a one-eyed jack lacking
love for his exquisite queen
I'm tired of it all
The jackbooted gall
The belfries of men
So unsmart and small
I'm tired of the game
The walks of sham shame
The unearned self-worth
Too lofty and lame
I'm tired of the lot
All piss and no pot
Delusive women
So hot on the trot
I'm tired of the ruse
The fakeness and schmooze
The cry offs and cants
Too short on the fuse
You make believe whatever you want
but that won't change any of the facts
the only reality 'tis in scientific truths
how a modern-day human should act
Only one more poem from the seer poet man,
as gospels of mystic science do show and tell
Catching scientific fact up to god 'tis my plan,
credulous progeny with others don't mix well
I mustn't forget I'm nearing my ends
undoubtably I'll soon find death year
Since I'm needing to be remembered
I'll render mystic science truths here
We scribble in so many words
Mementos on a minstrel's mind
Each coinage flying free as birds
Discharging droppings duly signed
We author categorically
Convictions in a rimester's root
Each sonnet metaphorically
Remaining for one last salute
We write down verses in the now
Reflections of the poet's past
Each musing like a timeless vow
Suspending vers libres half-mast
