Rivalling Vogon Poetry

Tue Jul 08 2003 11:23PM -0600

I quote The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy:

Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal hemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favorite Bathtime Gurgles when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, leaped straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.

Without further ado:

The Stone of Sisyphus

Forcing it will get you no where

Like hurling flesh headlong into the concrete

No matter how hard you mash, you still won't pass through walls

Red meat, guts everywhere

Everytime you stick things back in

blood gushes, entrails spill

The mindless savagery of animals tearing at my heart

enraged by the scent of blood

and I am helpless

as they rend and they shred

rip my belly wide open

Give it enough time, even heart-crushing pain becomes part of the background

Like the blue sunlit sky and the dizzy red of mind-numbing agony

I reel

I have long given up on asking for mercy

whether there is a dead or merely deranged God

blood seeps from the corners of my mouth

the taste of cold iron (the end of all fairy tales)

I am a dying thing

Alone, lying in the desert waste

choking in the dust

burning bright sun

the smell of burnt meat

charred flesh


though my soul still wriggles

like a worm pierced by a metal hook

In this hour

before the Judas kiss

the music has faded

and all words fail

I stand stock-still and mute

even language having betrayed me

and everything I have given

still coming up short

missing the mark

there is only the falling

plummeting through empty space

I stopped screaming millenia ago

In the time ahead, I have no choice

but to rise again.

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