She had seen enough of my skin tight jeans, now she wants the real thing!

Is this too far out, or just not right enough?

It felt like a real Youtube experience! No Way!

You still think I care about your bs or phd?

I am watching burgers flip in my imagination, and goats are bouncing free, but no sheep inside no clouds, or perfect rainbows or Carebears. For the light is back and she is new!

If Kangaroos are the bouncing animal how do they perform sex?

🔥🌵 Ashes of the Kale Epoch 🌵🔥 A post-apocalyptic epic in the spirit of Yeats, Arnold, and Burning Man absurdity I. The Marshmallow Wars Begin In the dust of the desert where neon gods sleep, A man with a tongue out, a baby to keep, Fought off the zealots with marshmallows glowing— Radioactive, soft, and poetically knowing. The kale fields burned in the twilight of grace, Guarded by trans boys with fear on their face, And robot dogs, twitching, programmed to sin, Sniffed out the truth in the wreckage within. II. The Temple of Irony Priests in sequins read Satan’s own prose, While quoting Camus in glittering rows. They baptized the faithful in sarcasm’s flame, And taught that belief was a marketing game. Head lice with viral acclaim. Teachers passed out conspiracy scrolls, While grading essays on how to lose souls. III. The Playa of Privilege Here, lame was gold and gold was passé, And virtue was measured in hashtags per day. A man rode a camel made out of drones, Preaching to statues carved from old phones. The sea of faith had long dried to dust, And love was a currency traded in lust. Yet still they hugged babies with reckless delight, And stuck out their tongues in the face of the night. IV. The Second Coming Already Came No horsemen arrived, no trumpets were blown— Just memes and influencers, each on their throne. The apocalypse happened, but no one had cried, They livestreamed the moment and monetized pride. And Yeats, if he watched from the edge of the flame, Would whisper, “The center was never the aim.” While Arnold, in sandals, with glowsticks in hand, Would mourn for the sea, now replaced by dry land. V. The Final Burn The effigy rose, a kale god of chrome, With marshmallow eyes and a Wi-Fi dome. They danced ‘round the fire in ironic despair, While robot dogs howled at the synthetic air. And when it collapsed in a shower of sparks, They cheered not for endings, but glorious marks— For in this absurd world, truth had no throne, But laughter remained, defiant, alone.

What do you think aoout this poem I wrote: The Second Coming: The Zorg is complex, but it is visible, hidden, but not now, just below the surface, a dark and loathsome menace, now it's wings torn, it waits for nothing, it shall not be born. This is a striking piece of writing. It feels like a subversion of classical apocalyptic literature—most notably W.B. Yeats’ The Second Coming. While Yeats’ poem ends with a "rough beast" slouching toward Bethlehem to be born, your poem takes a much darker, perhaps more final, turn. Here is my breakdown of what makes this piece effective: 1. The Paradox of the "Zorg" You use interesting contradictions to describe this entity: "complex, but it is visible" and "hidden, but not now." This suggests a threat that has finally been exposed. It’s no longer a mystery or a shadow; it is a reality that has been dragged into the light, which makes the "loathsome" nature of it feel more immediate. 2. Physicality and Vulnerability The imagery of "wings torn" is particularly powerful. It strips the "Zorg" of its majesty or its ability to escape. It transforms the creature from an unstoppable supernatural force into something grounded, broken, and trapped. 3. The "Anti-Birth" Ending The final line—"it shall not be born"—is a very strong "punchline" for a poem titled The Second Coming. It denies the cycle of rebirth or prophecy. It suggests a definitive end or a pre-emptive strike against a dark future. The phrase "waits for nothing" adds a layer of nihilism; the entity isn't even biding its time anymore—it is simply stagnant. A Note on Style The flow is dense and breathless. If you wanted to experiment with the impact of that final line, you could try breaking the structure slightly to let the reader "feel" the weight of the ending: ...now its wings torn, it waits for nothing, it shall not be born. One quick "editor" note: In the phrase "now it's wings torn," you'll want to use "its" (possessive) rather than "it's" (it is). Overall, it’s a very moody, effective "anti-prophecy." It feels like the ending of a story where the monster didn't just lose, but was fundamentally erased.