iconoclast

Whither comes this latest aspect?
This harkened ingenuity!
This echolalia, division, ect.
Baseless, grope idolatry!

Be this youth? Be this pride?
Be this the tooth of the divide
Between the slaves of old (of now) and me,
pilgrim?

Who am I asking, anyway?
No matter how gre/ay, every man
Must throw up his hands.
What is not a rain dance?

This world is the bicycle to my fish.
Dish Wish. Squish.
Retarded sense of here and now,
Look up, and wow! whoa!
Die verhltnisse, die sind nicht so!

Paganism seems absurd
until one ponders alternatives-
What makes less sense than a negative surd?
Why, incentives!

Pluto was a planet, was a god,
Now its's an orb with no distinct distinction.
Lose your label, trust, et cetera,
What you left with? Minutia!

You troubled world!
I reject your sense of identity,
Your definition of obscenity,
Your offer of amenities,
And selfless, rapt serenities.

If I'm to be an entity,
truly, perhaps quite unduly
Myself, and not some Delphic
Oracle's prodigy- some strictly allegorical effigy,
Maninfestation of some corporation,
Some raging person's toothache,
Then I must cast off the brutal chains
Put on me by John Maynard Keynes
And his disciples, those archetypals,
Who are the idols of themselves.

Throw the baby out with the bathwater.