The Future, My Dear, is a Shaven Cunt

Tortured backward into submission
by childish hands, nostalgic
for what can again never be
a lively abundance sundered beyond nature,
barren but bleeding, despite appearance.
As progress, defined by man,
is razed across time –
an overly maintained existence
is made vulnerable and exposed
to ever worsening cruelties from without
and no infantilized disguise
no artificial patch of preserve
no fetishistic sanctuary for a wasted past
will ever fulfill
a future, love-starved,
craving compassion and care
when the only end foreseeable,
to this lie,
to this deceptive act of virginal innocence,
is one greedily administered & whorishly unregulated

and p.s. you’ve got AIDS


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