This Book

It’s going to be beautiful. But
it’s going to be disgusting and crass.

And depending on whether you believe
those qualities mutually exclusive
it’ll be something disappointing 
but filthy, narcissism 
disguised as prophecy 
hypocritical, misguided, liable 
to quickly disappear...
even interesting but fatally flawed. 
How can it not be? Would you not doubt yourself the same? 

Now judge jury executioner
I encourage you to gauge
if I am speaking truth or propaganda.
I tried to do the former
but if we're honest it is hard
for even a determined man
to take this mix of smoke and filth
and awesome weight, America 
and still emerge believing in a god.

I do not know if I am full of lies
or purified, beyond the lie

so steeped in mystery
I can laugh when con men
write us fortune cookies.
Is truth flowing through me?
Or am I empty as a fortune
to itself?

Could a reader mindful of the challenges
to clearly think-- the bright-cancerous bird
void of executive function
screaming buy my stuff now
and the Word Salads of Big Victory Asshole
the promises of advertisers the threats of thugs--
will the reader sympathize
having lived through this?
Can the reader survive death by questioning it?
Will such a reader, unable to lie
use this book to help defend
the open meaning
of the possible importance
of a free and still-logical human
before a panel of unblinking angels? 

Now critic, help me see.
-----------------------------------------------------

If you stumble on this poem 
gun-in-hand thinking 
I’m gonna kill that stupidass poet for sure 
I beg you, fool. Read on! 

Together let's answer these questions.
Together, let’s destroy our illusions.