David McLean

david mclean
dedicated followers of decay

we are dedicated followers of decay
today, and predicate existence upon
the meaning we discerned or said
we discerned on ultimately getting thrown
in a coffin

it's like being unto death except
totally different from what Heidegger
ever said, he didn't like to be obsessed -
we wait however till the skeleton

gets undressed. we fuck a lot
but we really don't like the flesh

we assemble ourselves

we assemble ourselves every morning
from inertia and lie-dreams on our behalf,
from fragments of the past and reposted
ideologies, heaven's never and “real men
relatively seldom shoot children,”

we assemble we out of lies and dreams,
out of seldom noticing what the shit really
means - that we are the void's children
and infinitely innocent, philanthropic
murderers, cannibals and virgins,
just human beings, just
vermin

in the morning

nothing beats a little suicidal ideation
when you wake up to gain perspective
on these dismal days they call summer,
all the nature lovers, motherfuckers
happily licking the trailed drool of snails
and communing with trees

that the trees never answer them
is no criticism of the stupidity of trees
but seems eminently reasonable.
there are alleys in cities where it's possible
to be happy and even purchase speed -
no one there cares much about nature

and frankly, i wouldn't answer
a fucking hippie either -
for once i agree with the trees