Man Proposes, God Disposes

It’s about control or lack thereof
A twist of fate
A change
A reversal

The ox turned butcher
The slave turned master
The band turned audience
Cue the doe in headlights eye

Response to roadkill diatribe
Finally I am my own wind, ship, sails, and oar
I will be your target
I will stand here like an idiot with an apple on my head

While you hurl response like some blasphemous arrow
Thus a guilt most crushing
A Sisyphean guilt
A heart hidden beneath the floorboards guilt

William Tell Tale Heart
A post-ejaculation man upstairs watching guilt
Wet potential smeared across your stomach guilt
And it’s entirely your own guilt

Lacking any description worthy
To subsume in just simple words
Is a disservice to the blank sensation of
When the sky has its way with you

And you burn up in the atmosphere
All creation whispers in your ear
Blessed is the dog defecating on your lawn, grinning

Inhale, exhale etcetera
Animals eat animals etcetera
Animals fuck animals etcetera

Do I have to spell it out for you?
The words printed in super nova bold
I am always riding these rotations around the Sun
I am always riding this pretty bow tied on top, so tight as to never come undone

The same joke twice but the second time louder
An ocean of intellectual people laughing
Sailing idiot waters forever
While advertisements like nooses hang

Covering up Man Proposes, God Disposes
In preparation for a test taken in a play
I'm always writing in my head
And in it your character imagines

Men hung up on meathooks in a butcher’s shop
And eyed by oxen dressed in fur coats and leather hats
Animals eat animals ad infinitum
Cast in a starring role as flesh

While everyone else you know plays motion
Sparred details and generous skips to the good parts
Signed by the Sun with a wink and a thumbs up
Dancing lucid in arachnid schemes

With arachnid reputation proceeding
So contrary to a familiar soft
A grasp for sense where there is none
Sense is a spark between us

Sense is a cross armed glance and silent nod between us
Both shackled and accessed by a constant waltz
Of pushing air and wagging tongues
The intimate marriage of sensation and response

An exchange of jargon from one orifice to the next
All my thoughts are Colorless green ideas sleep furiously
All my thoughts, every one
And through this I admire the farce of control

And my total lack of wind, ship, sails, and oar
Every grip sustained on tangible artifact
Is an amusing thought and nothing more