the grunting boar

somewhat in the manner of jean fourbe

the brief spell granted
the living is as long as you have
to verify that what you do
say live & write has no reality
whatsoever, or not none but no
more than the boar that stole
that naked guy’s backpack
& laptop @ teufelsee:¹
you can grunt and run about
in the sun, & many gorgeous,
tanned & naked sunbathers will point
& laugh &/or marvel @ you &/or your corpulent
pursuer’s groans, but they rightly assume
you haven’t grasped a word
of the books you gnawed thru
& that you’ll never even power on that laptop
let alone type your login. but grunt
& run in the sun! faster! sweatier! gruntier!
confused and in all directions-ier!
you need the exercise
like all interlopers
& so does the chap gaining on you
fast, fretting over his spreadsheets.
as you clench the military-grade
nylon weave in your prehistoric jaw
& leap & dart & prong, you
know that this is what you evolved for,
this is being, life itself, the only way
to mark time, to inscribe being
with yours, filthy beautiful grotesque sham that it is.

¹ lit. ’devil’s lake’.