NYT Haikus

Not all are masterpieces, but there are some gems here.

TEOTWAWKI

living in the doom, catastrophe 
paranoia of the psychoentirety, 
a trash fire, landscape lighting 
florescent, sick room architectures 
broadcasting dead news to unwitting 
recipients, dream/nightmare remnants, 
black anxiegenic chemistries awaiting, 
reagents and catalysts, parlor 
epidemiologists and physicians, 
a confederacy of a billion clowns, 
narcissists, fascists and a mule 
turning paranoia into public policy 

mystics of the stream, waterflesh 
bubbling personal microculture, 
the best swims between the net, 
fishing, the pitiless puta, thrusts 
his smooth skinned erection towards 
the wild, the permaweird, memory-wired, 
on the float, uplifting imaginary vortex, 
against a loser's catalog: black jerseys, 
bum guns, and jack boots - stomping 
an exogenous shock, giving birth to a thin, 
grim newness, destined for the trash of civilizations 

The WYSIATI Prison

What you see is all there is,
a closed ideology fakelore, a mazeway garden,
fruiting failed perspectives and shared paranoias.
Quant illusions, analysis is paralysis.

Divert and subvert. Launch determines
orbit for every apex, when the monkey bells
the gorilla they call it jungle justice, a harmless
bruising, the shot before the anesthetized heart.

But, the kakistocracy provides: 24 hour water,
electric fusion fleshlights, a wankbank, weird
excretion dependent, generative of natural-adjacent,
CRISPR life, selected for a skidmarked sky.

An unspoken quale, smells like nothing else,
deep in the boojum and bafflegab, counterphobic,
insufficient evidence of normal on the weirdo safari.
Quis potest sapere audere?

Comment Chains

Man is born free but everywhere is in comment chains,
assembly-line production "memes" in social media-ready
baggies for your unnourishment, the whole world,
a sad maze of thinly disguised press releases.

The future is here and everything needs to be destroyed,
salt the field, plant your seed in the sucking wound of need,
harvest, pack in two lost matching suitcases, left circling,
forever on a carousel going nowhere being eaten by flies.

New & Old Lands/Water

In the deep, a subterranean cache, 
drip echoes, hardened magma flows
turned rivers, unseeing fish splash,
the earth's heart is on fire, blows.

Aquifers, filtered-moisture fed
flushed, a sucking river vortex
pulled, underground caldera bed,
formed before the prefrontal cortex.

Gardener's vision, compulsive
separating out the amoeba shits,
from the snail's slime, repulsive,
drowning in what the mystic omits.

Love me, love my amoebas, gross
we came, why, reality is blobby,
mess is not something to diagnose
the only certainty: its sloppy.

Sea change, rich and strange
pour yourself into strange waters
our many lives are frozen, deranged
paper Jesuses offered up for slaughters.

If only, I.F., I'm fucked, too,
quale, a different cell, all
different moments, a different you,
same behavior keeps you a thrall.

Suffering. Dismiss the teacher,
sub-human, human, minor god,
in our luggage, every creature
carries the mask of self, a facade.

Can those in the Black Iron Prison
be saved? What of the Palm Tree Garden?
New life, from pain, is risen.
From lessons, there is no full pardon.

Somewhere, above, there's another
underground. Do not despair.
Wait in the depths, unseen Other,
a new sea/land awaits, I'll see you there.