Hurt Feelings Aside,

stupid audiences are no worse than  boring poets,boring musicians, boring artists  boring philosophers.  If the world is  a stage,  the audience: (you) amoral nymphs  gorging off the sangría  pouring out  of my wrists.  I am a prostitiute.  We´ll clank our glasses together  and taste smooth full-bodied delusion,  lay the cornerstone the next eleven steps  are bulit upon.  Eternal life Moral enlightenmnet  all crocks one in the same,  but you will still fade away  like blood thirsty citizens  swayed to and fro with the prose  of sweet idiots like me.  I am no vanguard  nor should you pat yourselves on the back  but digress  I,            because  that cute guy in the corner checking you out  is really saying                  "She have wide hips, she give many babies".  that cute girl smiliing and tussling her hair  is really saying                  "He have broad shoulders, he hunt many antelope".  and  all I really want is a spear to kill things with,  marking my territory on the walls with out  getting arrested, scratch my balls in public,  naked like pre-historic man.  and  six months from now you will love this poem  on a different night, in a different bar, no different from this  swathing into another more pretentious than the next  cursed by sirens singing on the rocks  about cusps, futures, selfish revolutions  taking vacations to the margins  with that so typical  Wicker Park mentality.