Jogging the Mind

Hello all,

This is a poem I wrote when I was angry but tried to have a good spirit about it all. I think it’s a little funny. Let me know what you think, if you decide to read it.

All the best,

JCO

An Asshat

Fucking assholes, mine being the deepest—cavernous, really. Constantly constipated with hatred, like some cruel desire for expulsion when really it envelops, in its vacuum of all things nasty, the kind of shit that sticks so firmly it’s not worth peeling. I’ve got rounded walls of lesions that bleed and peak through my abscessed anus abused by suppositories my doctor prescribed. But the medicine isn’t killing the roundworms peeking from fleshy portholes too stretched to be called pores, oozing the same black filth I drool when I’ve lost attention. No, dewormers are something but listen, my rectum’s nearly killed ‘em, those little worms, with the occasional expulsions of will–movements which evacuate as if I’ve been burning, completely invaded by flames. Maybe, but I’d like to think I just run hot. Really, my colon’s collateral damage in these wars of consumption which stick in my gums and repeat the same tirades just a bit more tiredly than the last time. I take cyanide for the stomach pain but it only seems to make it worse, probably a carcinogen too, seems every drug is these days. I guess I just wish I didn’t have to wear my ass as a hat every time I went out, but I’d hate to make an ass of myself in front of everyone else’s.