Douchebagiana

Museums are tchotchkes without any bedside manner.
If we're going to be douchebag blunt, I mean.
The ones drowned above are amusing.

Sometimes they actually paint them on the Ceiling.

I know you're jealous of the narwhals
who escape stupid human meaning; stop lying.
If only we too could learn to remain
above the Arctic Circle.

So many problems would be solved that way.

Poets still digging a hole
inside that vaguely Spielbergian movie
are denying it the whole time.

Tom Hanks. Tom Hulce. The Hulk.
All the applesauces taste the same
because it's really just the cinnamon, stupid.

What do we really want?

A room pilfered from the market
where we could brandish swords.

Wouldn't that be lovely?

With no curtains...as it snowed
people could look up and see us fencing
in the well-lit orangery.

Wallace Stevens opined:

"This is a mock-bow
any douchebag denizen can learn to do
before reality."

It's comic to oppose it,
but tragic to revere it.

It's exactly like the orgasm
with the ache of the person subtracted.