The Aphorist - Protomartyr

We’re all mowing esoteric patterns in the grass

A fast and fading echo of ancient

Nazca Man

Who carved his lines upon the desert floor

In hopes to catch the eye of some forgotten god

To delight a passing thunderbird

Or win patronage of a sky-jaguar knit of stars

Shouted slogans of leapers give me megrims

Why didn’t I smash the copier when I was through?

Self-doubt is a stalking fiend

Narcissism is a killer

That and no healthcare

Dumb aphorist embrace obscurants

And write in ogham for your final lines

There’s the failed lawyer haunting teen-punk shows

He’ll explain his top 5 for 09 and what to eat

But, if you ever saw his bald-skull head

You’d be certain he’d been dead for weeks

And that’s the story of the happy thief who provided content

To that ceaseless chill-out stream

His body will be found soaked in luminol aftershave

Room of knives, Lebanon, Flying J

I didn’t know him very well

But I think of him whenever my mind drifts