God's Disgusted Awareness (a good but controversial poem)

Schadenfreude
In memory of Otto Dix

If pushing limb
through an eggshell
were easier—"Weeste noch?"

not entirely
more daunting, say—
"Sehr wirklich Leben,"

thousands of
daisy cutters, der
Selbstermörd (1000 lb/in2),

might've led one
to meadows, however
miniscule, of quiet.—

But looking on
long enough, "Nache
diese Platter dort."—

one becomes
drowsy,—feels anemic.
"Relative," he said,

"—to naught."
No voice. Stilleben.
And all is graceful.

Hell is where we are silent

Hell is where we are all silent. No one says Fuck the Police anymore.