D|o|G, 2018 | Genier i prosalitteraturens verden som Fjodor Dostojevskij har tidligere beskæftiget sig med det evigtgyldige spørgsmål om den personlige identitets opretholdelse eller mulige spaltning i en dobbeltgængeragtig tvillingetilværelse. Samme emne tages nu op på samme niveau af D|o|G – Diaper of Glory – i dette digt, der må forventes at indtage sin plads i verdenslitteraturens store bibliotek ved siden af bl.a. de russiske mestre.
My spaghetti house is unlocked, you beautiful downtown thief!
I hold the plans of my depressing future tightly engraved into the swollen, unforgiveable boob job of a 12-year-old rocket launcher.
Alay Alay Alooooooooh, I lie in some human dressed snow.
The potato jacket fills me with biopsy topping, the kind a grown man can only longingly cry for while snorting CAT cement and computer atmosphere.
I … it is I who is truly thy … A thigh in a haircut rodeo … and a whiny, whiskey-sand filled upstate apartment for laughable lasso adults.
These things mean absolutely nothing to you and everything to me, so all in all it means a little bit to some people, but not to me and you or for that matter anyone else.
I see the universe as owl underwear … the kind only your sick, mentally twisted camera tripod would write wounded cum poetry about.
Once again it was/has/back been fun … soooo fun … sooo very much fun … fun as in funk, only with more fun in it and no funk … filming flappy defecation fun … just for fun.
Until next time … please don’t wait, but live a full life not giving a new poem a thought at all, while giving a new poem your full attention and forget about your life outside of a new poem.
And remember what Kid Rock says: DR3 siger mig ikke en skid!