Apply directly to forehead

Dipped into the prophecy of
one-time enemies, now a near
piece of me, dragged into infamy
by sequential product marketing
and the hawking of Hawking’s
providential theories and mocking
of mawkish forms of scientific pedigree
steely eyed pill popping, outcropping
of stern-lipped celery chopping, and sloppily
dozing and phasing out into amazing
sceneries, clandestine gatherings, surreptitious
blatherings and discourse penned
by secretive revolutionaries, getting stoned
in the process of hyperventilating, rolling stone
but the end of the hill’s waning, the ravine
seems to be never-ending, especially
in terms of piecing together shattered
bits of he, a grinning pile staggered
over a stagnant period of miles that trudge
and plod, judge and prod, specifically
generating strings of binary to facilitate
the process of impressing me, alternatively
depressing me and digesting once stolid
chunks of my personality, enraging the caged
page of my manic-obsessive autobiography
squealing pro patria mori en media res
of crashed and burned mis-dealings
the feeling that fettered peelings
of lemon drops, lent to those who forgot
my name, the contents of my soul, flints
of coal and shirked splints of ethereal pole
molded into the slimy, shrieking, newly birthed
shoal of me, that’s my regenerated nomenclature
I’m still set to defy nature, the time-frame is shed
ready to earn what I once spurned, and burned
with the narrow vision of stern frontal-lobe lacking
youth, so bitter and so incorrect, ripe with fallacy
that was me, sometimes think
That’s all I’ll ever be
if I keep turning the cheek