struck, stricken, striking.

i overdo it,
add the hot fire and explosions to it.
i doo-doo it, like freaky-diki sh!t,
but i do not do it this time, kids
for the very first time in ten long years,
there's no overwhelming onslaught
of appreciative generous gestures to commemorate
the active participant's worthy warrior poetic
interactive profit-sharing scenario.
ugh.
as hard a style as it is,
i fought against the nature of infinity,
and erased some schematic plots from the
secret universal plan.
do you know what that means?
it means a tornado of windy sh!ttiness blew through
the whole woodsly goodness,
but only metaphorically.
the winds of change blew in the answer, y'all.
basically,
it means i didn't do a F*ing thing for a change.
this time,
the right amount was a surgically precise,
correctly-measured amount of too much of not enough.
neighbors,
the tissue paper and metallic foil wrapping paper days
are over and out like a radio sign-off.
the gratitude and generosity of viking virtue and publicly
displayed affectations of affection are off the air,
and off the list.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
today is the day, is the day, is the day.
all day, even.
a sh!t-hot batch of thanks for nothing,
spanned with a couple of kinds of giving the least F*s possible.
uh-huh.
the only thing not half empty around here is the full moon.
awwwww, MAN!
a luminous lantern in the firmament,
beaming in the lunacy,
and bouncing back the lengthy waves of wolfmannerism.
giving up isn't giving in?
i don't know, kids.
what do you guys think?
***********
marshalling my martial merits and marital demerits?
sounds serious.
i got a list,
i checked it twice,
and i noticed a few things.
in order, the weak sauce was sponged up
from it's sopping waterbabyish diaperpants,
and expunged like a placenta of dementia,
then outvoted, and subsequently vetoed, in absentia.
holy sh!tballs, y'all.
here or not, here or there,
and everywhere in between,
it's all really happening.
a convoluted locution of locomotive absolution.
get it?
no?
okay.
here:
i didn't buy any presents.
it killed me not to.
i fought through that sh!t.
word up.
now you get it, right?
right.
struck, like from the record, and like a shot in the mouth,
stricken like a heart sick, forlorn, and forsaken sucker puncher,
striking, like lightning and like handsome mutha-'uckers.
yeah.
that's right.
ugly is the new hottness.
believe it.
inside and over and out;
never quiet, never soft.....7x19