I wrote this while in a kind of weird state of mind. It either turned out okay or it’s complete garbage. I haven’t made up my mind yet.

Scott McMountainclimber

All I want in the world is whatever I want in the world.

I want the freedom and creativity to write rhymes

That don’t rhyme and stories without glory.

I want to wake up in the morning

And say that no one is boring

Because when people are boring

It’s like Elon Musk is boring

A hole in my head the size of a make-believe mountain

Named Mt. Snoring,

Where every Wednesday at 9:23 his sleep apnea machine breaks

And his snore wakes

A village and stirs an entire lake

Made of the most decadent pie

You’ve ever had in your life, one to

Die for. I want to wake up and smell the roses

With my nose’s

Holes instead of the twists and bends when I use three hoses.

I want my poetry to have such little consistency that the free-form

Feels like chloroform

On a most fragile mind.

Nothing makes sense, and something is wrong, but in the end, this poem is about Mt. Snoring and the people it’s boring. This isn’t a poem. It’s fucking garbage. It has no place here. The world is boring… and so is life.

Childhood whimsy is the messiah because when it doesn’t make sense, it’s fun. It’s stupid. It’s pointless. It’s everything that it’s meant to be.