Bee-lief System: A Stuck Inside Poem, Day 32

Do you have one of those friends who

is so paranoid and confused and cynical

that you wish they would just join a cult

already? It would give them something to belong to.

I know.  I know 5G is killing the bees.

And you know, too, because your guru

from Venus who claims to channel Freddy Mercury

told you so around the same time

he mentioned 65% of every dollar you make

from now on would be required for tithing

if you ever want to begin your second mitosis

or whatever.

We all gotta believe in something. So what

if the internet rabbit hole you fall down most

is all about sourdough and libertarianism?

I don’t give a shit.  Yes, I know you’re playing chess,

and I’m eating Checkers. Yes, I know kombucha is more alive

than we are. Yes, I know the power structure is not

designed so you can run around naked in your backyard

even though it’s your backyard.  And no,

I don’t care if you’ve contacted Steve Jobs

with a Ouija board app on your phone

and that he’s the one who let you know apples

occupy the space of both metaphor and snack.

Fuck no. I won’t shave my cat and drink fur tea,

but thank you for asking. And no,

I don’t want to talk about Nostradamus

even if you mean the golden age of hip hop’s sunset

because that album was warm trash covered in cat shit.

What were Nas and Ginuwine thinking

when they wrote “You Owe Me?”

Somebody must not have screwed the lid on tight

because that jam did not age well.

But by all means, if your new guru

is going to knight you as an acolyte

to fight against the demonic herd,

go for it.  I remember you said the only way

to curb the spread of evil is for the people

to know the truth, but constantly

retweeting the soundcloud link

of your guru’s speeches wreaks of desperation. 

How cataclysmic can somebody with a man bun be?