Lamentations of a Postmodernist

O Woe!

The earth is not flat
We are not the centre of the universe
We are heliocentric.

Homo is not sapiens
Nor the apex of creation
But dependent on it.

Unlike the rest of creation
We are destroying our mother earth
Are we evolving or devolving?

There is no truth
We know that.
It’s true.

There is no God
But many warring gods
We are theocentric

There may be no hell nor heaven
Which seems unfair.
We’ll have to wait and see.

The self does not exist
We are selves: multiple, fractured, conflicted, conflicting.
We are egocentric. Totally!

Time and space converge
Energy and matter interchange
Male and female now transition.

2+2 does not equal 4, but 22.
Or 5, if rounded up
From 2.4 rounded down.

All is subjective

Relative

Contingent

Except when it is objective

Absolute

Alone

POEMS FOR POMOS II

To understand the postmodernist
It’s so much easier if you’re pissed
Or smashed or tanked or simply drunk
Coz most of what they say is bunk.

“There is no truth!” they write and write
They know it’s wrong. I can’t be right.
They say “It’s true! I know it is!”
But we’ll dismiss this with a kiss.

He could not live without the truth:
His name, address, his wife’s name, Ruth.
Forget these truths and he’s in trouble.
Sorry, dude, to burst your bubble.

All’s upside down and inside out
Back to front and round about.
We’ll take it with a pinch of salt,
Lean in, and hoist a double malt.