Doggerel Bites The Hand That Writes It: A Dismantle Piece

We stand on the precipice of a new understanding.

It’s not the void we’re staring into, it’s the void

staring out at us.

For a long time nothing changes, then, suddenly,

everything changes at once.

History is a made up story to give us a certain view

of the present that makes it seem to make sense, and

traps and holds us in its manufactured preconceptions,

the life of Jesus a prime example.

Educated with old wives tales like covered in scales,

every day prejudiced before we step out the door.

Something new, a sight, a sound, a taste, is just

something new to ignore, filed away in a drawer,

“to be continued”. “I’m busy with so many things”, 

haven’t got time, couldn’t care less, in my routine,

and when the day is done, “What happened?” is all

that comes to mind, if anything.

Looking forward to vacation, then, it’s forgotten as

soon as it’s done, only a snow globe or a little plastic

Hawaiian grass skirted figurine to remind us we were

there, we did something once, we went somewhere,

though, as we’re dying we sweep the table of trinkets

of memories with our arm, desperate to still be there.

We had our chance with the familiar world, the one

we thought we knew.

It’s almost over now, the cracks in the china aren’t 

from age, they’re real.

Even any words I write too late to help at all.

Everything before is part of Adam’s fall.

The brave new world, progress, all our grandfathers’

promises pale in comparison to what is happening 

that we never could have imagined…”oh, do not ask

‘what is it?’ Let us go and pay our visit.”

A thirst we could never quench 

turns out to be the monkey wrench.

(Rhyming for no reason because no

punchline because it’s not a joke.)