jovial ether
“Ego in a Cathedral of Catatonic Glitter”
My ego—oh, seriously—
a swollen sphere, a smug little orb
doing backflips in a broken mirror,
whispering hymns to its own soul like a
belligerent choir of one.
I kneel at the altar of my own thought,
a sacred womb of void,
where silence isn’t silent—
it sizzles, it spits, it snickers—
like lightning licking a synapse
mid–existential hiccup.
Call it quantum confusion,
call it a concept gone feral,
call it a myth with a manic muse
chewing gum in a gothic cathedral of cracked paradigms.
I conjure a hymn—
no, scratch that—
a dirge in drag, dripping with radiance,
each note a jagged gleam
cutting skin from skeleton
with syllables that stutter, sputter, splinter—
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious but malicious,
my diction’s a friction addiction,
a tongue-twisting ritual of ridiculous ruin.
Blink—
I’m a speck in an infinite labyrinth,
a worm with a WiFi connection to oblivion,
scrolling through consciousness like it owes me rent.
Between solitude and mayhem,
betwixt a hole and a hard place,
I radiate regret like a radioactive recoil,
a coiled coil coexisting with its own collapse.
Mayday, my pride’s on fire—
please, somebody respect the wreckage,
I’ve weaponized my own identity
into a monster with a microphone
and a migraine.
I vibrate with anguish,
oscillating between bliss and panic,
a pendulum of poetic turmoil
tick-tocking in a hollow headspace
where reason got lost and left a passive-aggressive note.
Linger here—
in this luscious limerance of linguistic lunacy,
where assonance seduces consonance,
and every rhyme is a crime scene
with lacerations in the margins.
I dig my own grave with a golden tongue,
forge forgiveness from fractured faith,
then erase it—
because apathy is my aesthetic,
and decay is just delayed applause.
My blood writes esoteric graffiti
on the inside of a screaming skull,
each line a spiral,
each spiral a labyrinth,
each labyrinth a lazy excuse for not evolving.
I smother myself in solace,
choke on a sacred joke—
ha—
even my soul rolls its eyes.
This is my ritual:
to vivisect the vibe,
to sabotage the sublime,
to turn entropy into entertainment
and call it enlightenment.
A catatonic mystic in a meme machine,
I hum hymns to the hum of the core,
a cosmic coil of collapsing coherence—
endless,
empty,
electric.
So here’s my plea—
not for redemption, no—
just a little stylish reverberation
when I inevitably descend
into the punchline of my own philosophy.
Because honestly?
This whole thing—
this ego, this echo, this edible illusion—
is just a very dramatic way
to say:
I looked into the mirror…
and the void said,
“Nice try, poet.
Try harder.”
tight anchor
wintry wharf
knotty thunder
fluid edge
brisk venture
rare dome
pliant skiff