Soft Fierceness, My Ass!
Cusswords trump diplomacy.
I want fracas. I want fight.
A coward’s language matches the limits of his property values.
The amount of dirt under a knave’s fingertips
Dictate the color and depths of her words.
Be haughty and righteous.
Blind to the richness of your own hubris
When in your prayers you say, “my light is whiter than yours.”
Bitch fester’s, don’t laugh!
Don’t think that you are being left unscathed. Know this.
Cynicism, like resentment, will only go as far as the sun.
I’m taking courses for a my masters
At a ground-zero hotbed of post-modern psychology.
Just between you, me and the fence post,
It’s hotbed of post-modernist shaming.
A whirlwind of semantic positioning.
A college of guilt by free-association.
A cemetery where contrary thoughts go to die.
Reich is non-existent here, gone the way of the ashes of his books.
There’s diologic experience,
Invitations to go a deeper,
And soft fierceness salads with Buddhist dressings on the side.
Fix me with existential heroin.
Spare me mindfulness meditations led by flat voices of deflated sincerity.
Spare me the zero-sum games of the gender wars.
Spare me the possibility of venn-diagramming existence, experience,
And the joy that sits with us now
Why do I get the feeling that my balls are being cut off
That the term “patriarchy” is an excuse for color-deprived dreams
In a Groucho Marx-less world
Soft fierceness, my ass.
I know words and I know action.
And I will not die from the tyranny of dull minds
I get that I may be “projecting”
Believe me, I do.
And, you know,
The one thing about bullshit
Is that it always smells the same.
