It’s been 8 months since the psychic said
“you’re fucked”.
Perception is reality
and reality sucks,
It has a way catching up.
No matter how hard you try to sleep in
your dreams bend to my whim.
You can hide,
but I roll out of bed snake eyes,
with my thumb on the scale.
Your flat earth capsizes ,
and the bills in the mail multiply
like betrayals, in a poorly written soap
With no focus, no scale, all ideas, no scope
all the stories at once and each makes even less sense.
And the hope that you spoke of,
turns to smoke like incense.
I’m a karmic squatter.
Your chakras silently scream
like fish out of
beer. I’m polluting your streams.
Breathing secondhand fear,
spitting secondhand lies.
In your doom scroll despair
what you don’t realize is your share of the damage.
Your cut of the prize
is your own soul dissected,
sold back by the slice
and that last tiny piece of your past normal life,
is your new paradise. So
hold onto to it tightly, save the receipt.
I’ll be back for it soon, plus a restocking fee.
And your prayers, your plans won’t save your balance sheet,
I’ll fuck that up too,
there’s no accounting for me.
You wouldn’t know it
but summer is here.
we went from Lizzo to shitshow
in the span of a year,
artists still struggle, some persevere
but their air is cut, dirty,
this is my atmosphere, my grass-stained vibrations
hanging in the air
with no schedule, no rhythm, endless
droning nightmares.
Formationless armies
of suburban lawncare take cover.
Amazon drive by’s
spray boxes through the streets
a normal summer
dangling, just out of reach.
I see you out there
denying my motions,
Like your coffee cup gavels carry some weight,
half the worlds’ hair sprouts like
weeds though the sidewalk
but your parties, your salon appointments can’t wait.
With bangs like Friends, like it’s the nineties again
you’re rocking the Rachel and mocking
the home school detention,
seeing YouTube doctors
with no attention
to detail, they’re charging retail
for reality’s suspension.
You’re doing your own research,
applying your own leeches,
mainlining your cleanse
with the finest blends of bleaches.
Head bowed in anticipation
of the royal chlorination,
trying to pass your biology
on vague justifications.
And giving me Illuminati side eye
cash bleeding out
like cheap hair dye
dreams counterfeit
lies on auto-reply
caught on camera
and still crying “both sides”,
your coughed up claims
oversaturate the air
Your mind’s busted open
these chemtrails won’t take you
anywhere
So go ahead, scream conspiracy,
My plot twist is I’m exactly who I seem to be,
You’re talking fast but
perception can’t outrun reality.
While you spin up new stories
I’m burning down your credibility,
my fever spreading like found money,
the last words on your lips
are my name, 2020.
– The Royal Chlorination © Mike Chernoff 08/2020 – 05/2022
From the collection Carry-out Carton Fortress
Chernoff Writing.com 