The cover of an H.P. Lovecraft novel

is staring me in the face

but I’m not terrified yet

as I haven’t read the book

and I’m feeling mighty lazy

and apathy has nestled in

and it’s all I can do 

just to keep from falling asleep


but the psychotic episodes

wane off with time

and—gasp—some foks say maturity

but perish the thought at once

that I’ll go down so easy

when, sore lower back aside,


I’m feeling pretty strong

& perplexed by Conan Doyle

& terrified by Poe

& bewildered by Corelli

something got to give

and hopefully not be my back


As I seek the courage

to take another couple steps

The crowds are urging me on

and I commit to completion,

however long it may be,

and apparently it is

for the rest of my life


But it seems unlikely

I’ll ever eclipse my day job

which is the dream entire

however much they doubt

Aspirations are told

revealed by betrayal

It reeks of opulence

but there is no other way


Such pomp

in such circumstances

is inevitable

and the leaders cower

in the corner 

knowing the revolution

is drawing near

and the end

is bloody well coming

with a blitzkrieg unparalleled.




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allets's picture

If U Want Terror

Read Alfred Hitchcock's psycho-babble/head messing with emotional appeals as literature. 



georgeschaefer's picture

psycho babble head--there's a

psycho babble head--there's a poem in there somewhere

language_game's picture

I love the last stanza.

I love the last stanza.

georgeschaefer's picture

thanks for reading.  Bloody

thanks for reading.  Bloody glad you liked it.