Evolution

I get sick a lot.

Sick of society. Sick of self.

It gets worse with age.

My body cannot handle

The density

The overwhelming

The proverbial

YOU.

Because you make me sick.

You

Who only bears

YOU—

Fruit

No labor.

You

Who do not mask

Your elucidations of

Far from free.

Take liberty

With guns.

Spread legs only

For deflowering

And if it were anything other than

Witless power—

We’d be One and One but

Transparent with phobia

Strepitous with ache for a better

Yesterday

When it was all take

No make.

Naked—

You make me sick.

With envy

That I don’t have phallic

Tendency

And whitewashed taste

Or think that everything BUT

Gray matters.

Gay is but a verb in your mouth

That still tastes

Somehow sour

To Salt of Earth sinners,

Who doesn’t like the sparkle of sugar?

You make me sick.

Because You think

I'm sick

To exist.

Rally

For Your

Existential crisis.

Midlife cries to

"Jesus" and an

Afterparty

With Dionysus—

Just to sow one last oat

Without Oh…

Because that’s Your right,

So long as You pay

Your penances

And pray the gay

Away

We cross lines

That are

Stenciled thin.

Barge uninvited in

To minds

Where we’ve always been.

You think,

Naturally,

We don’t fit

But if Gaia has anything

To say

It’s that the paradox

Is Darwin’s

And production

Limited

With nobody

Listening.

J.M.Liles ©️2024