July 2, 2014

<i>July 2, 2014</i><br><br><br>


by Jeremiah Walton

I'm currently a part of a 60 person cult
All you have to do is: bolololol
What do we get together to do?
We Sacrifice humans to the goats
And dance under the pained gaze of dying Gods.
This cult is mostly composed of teenagers,
and some strippers (no that's
not a joke)
but mostly a group of teenagers
who smoked pot in the woods
under domes of manufactured isolation
to avoid bothering the law
and wasting cops' time (unless
it's the end of the month,
and they have a quota to fill.
Then it's Justice, atomic
and always presented by the same mouth,
but with a different coat of lips.)
Our hands are dirty with the stench of bridges and spray cans
streaks of river bed filth and rope swing burns
Summer blunt cruises and angled faces maddened to our giggles
My parents still get shit for not forcing me to go to college from formal education's pedestrians
The fires of our cult is fading
I've been glueing stars to the ceiling and pretending they're brighter than the sun
Advantages of childhood crumbled like discarded cake wilting in between rats teeth
cavities of love filled with coping mechanisms
Roars of lions become a script of prescribed joy and love
Conditions operated like third wheels causing a pile up of dates
Or a person who feels so cornered they have to lash back
even when there is no solution he has to offer other than blood.
We need those willing to cut themselves open for what they love.
We didn't know what we wanted
We're being offered what we don't
The cult is a drunk's concept piece of an origami swan
The cult is ramshackle on the last chains of childhood
Ones off smoking PCP and snorting heroin
Another going to RPI and studying a plaque plaque that develop on proteins
Others are laying down like stagnant ponds dead of flies and frogs
(or the harsh irises of third party criticism)
Our boats are sailing
(or at least trying to)
This is the time the world is in front of us
says the world
and I can't help but feel sad
even with so many stars in reach
but fuck their late
The Big Bang of bolololol
The origins of a group who walked 25 shit faced miles just for McDonalds
and upon arrival it was closed.
We hopped trains with no destination for the hell of it
We built igloo villages
We asked for a virgin discount when a hooker tried soliciting our empty pockets
We we're goddamn McGyvers when it came to finding something to smoke out of
We laughed.
We laughed.
We're trying to laugh.

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