This piece entitled Poetic Chaos by J Vincent Scarpace–even a poem in the investigation of an environment wrought with misuse and abuse as a form of art my poem fails to find a poetic chaos beauty that reels in the bad and unforgiving notions.
I’m a cloned tomato,
poked with a needle
filled with a pigs DNA
to extend my shelf life
Thanks to my longer life
I relive the violation
over and over.
I’m a cloned cow– Wow now!
The corporations fucked with
my signature flavor—wiped out—
because I hear that they
mass produce me.
I face the butcher tomorrow–
Good—cause now I’m a suicidal cow.
I’m a mental case.
Addicted to drugs and booze,
an unlikely clone candidate.
My psychiatrist even instructed
me to not reproduce; to seek sterility
so not procreate and birth weaker race.
Only geniuses and models
are clone candidates.
I’m a guru—shhh…no one knows.
The illness that plagues all of you,
is that you want more and better. Now.
To cooperate with the environment
sounds spiritual to me–don’t mind casualties.
But, people insist on changing it instead
of adapting to it–this characterizes
the unrelenting selfishness of the human race.
http://wp.me/p24ZNW-v5 Hopefully a teaser.
Scientology Tell Me a Story.
Cloning my good traits won’t make you a better and saner person. ha ha.