today
we used talk of the inaudible noise
sometimes, the unseen,
her and i as opposed to engaging
the deafening silence that she hated
about the distances,
outside, herself; in a book and me.
she thought about dying; a lot,
common among obsessives and bugs
and attentive drunks,
locked in amber stasis,
unchanged, for millions of years
fossilized
in crystalline despair,
stumbling forward, back again
unnoticed through preoccupied centuries
in search of a lost, off course,
perhaps, dead or drunk and already gone astray
tomorrow.
“it must be here.”
“are you sure?”
“no.”
“maybe we should go back.”
“but it can’t be there.”
“why not? it’s today.”
“you mean in the now?”
“yeah… we’ll just kill time, kick the can, like there is no tomorrow.”
“and if by tonight, we still can’t find a shred of evidence or reason for its existence?”
“well, then we wait.”
“on what?”
“i don’t know… the rank of urgency, the delicate aroma of anticipation, or perhaps the warmth of
expectancy? we’ll follow, whichever scent comes first until we find it.”
“hope?”
“yeah… hope.”
“i registered for classes in the fall.”
“really… that’s good.”
“i’m done drinking.”
“okay.”
“i’m going back to school and i want you to write.”
“okay.”
“i want a baby.”
“okay. do you want a ring?”
“no… i want a stone that will never be cast in my direction.”
“you’ve got it love and i will kill any man that touches it.”
“i love you Botched Resignation.”
“i love you too.”
©2024 Botched Resignation All rights reserved.
in this time of great social upheaval, a looming economic catastrophe and a civilization, along with all traces of humanity, teetering on the brink of extinction, comes this ill-mannered knucklehead, Gerard Padron, an american poet, on the ground, who writes under the pseudonym Botched Resignation. like many of the oxymoronic, idiosyncratic writers of his day, he is a lover of women, hero to children and champion of the poor. Botched Resignation is everything that is disdainfully fashionable. just ask him. he drinks heavily when he can and can’t dance. as to the many things which have been said about his personage, one cannot expect everybody to be as bright, clever, and optimistic, as they are self-assured and talented.
from the hypocritical top down, the collusive heads of every department on the globe, have insisted that everything we do, must be… from this point forward.., state of the art… fuck’em… it is not as though Botched Resignation, has not sent notice. the village idiot, elevated a tremendous fool, Botched Resignation is The Venomous Dog of the House of Padron / High Chancellor of the Witless, the Ardent and the Tawdry, who that on more than one occasion, has been mistaken for Jesus, and declared a much smarter man by more than just a few staggering
drunks.
an inebriated rogue, inspecting from head to foot, an intoxicated, duplicitous, secular pride, he is his own worst enemy. on the field of poetic contention, Botched Resignation has no rival, no job, no money and no prospects. none. he is the point and shaft of an elegiac spear, as well as the archetype who wields it. however, odds are, up against it he can never hope to win and doesn’t give a damn.
Botched Resignation is 100% pure snipe.