Post-College Syndrome

I have been writing and appreciating poetry since my primary school days. I wrote almost anytime, anywhere. Some of it I have lost; some still with me. Now the following "disturbed" poem was the product of a post-college syndrome, which lingers up to today. This is "intertextual," so language majors say, and I can say, perhaps, very complex and raw:

(Notice I have images before or after the poetry--those are to approximate my perception of the contents of poems and those I wrote.)

I Have Sinned

A

mongrel

in the night

whoo-whooing–

man of culture, su-

percalifragilisticexpiali-

docious. He triggers the gun-

blade among the children of desti-

ny/advent children. Akin to faith he asks

the saint of labor why he is nowhere. Tonight,

the mongrel grasps the Beatles. Twelve Midnight.

He holds tight. Upright. Diamond tears in the chamber

react to ammos. World War. The Holy Mongrels:

the hollow men are his comrades. Legalese &

hotel. Partner. And, eureka. He meets The

One. Salvaged from Evanescence. Al-

low me to zell smile. His Guardian

Forces rejoice. The English Ma-

jor is The Lionheart--needs

sharpening. No more Dark

Matter & Black Materia.

Devour Ultimecia

For me. Miss

X

Mea Culpa

Birth of the New Man

Salvador Felipe Jacinto Dali