help me, nanny, i don’t move a lot you start thinking, don’t you, that you’ll give it one more shot? there are signs (again) that the relationship is not going to work—i’m an intellectual; my ballroom dancer is a slut.
an ever present combination, thinking,
as you do, that you’re worth what you would
do, instead of what, right now, you ping
age old celebrity, waiting in the wing; this is the army, darling, that i espouse; i want to go down in history; like Alexander the Great—kill me several hundred times, don’t know what you thought was going to happen,
you live a life that would lead to stardom,
you cannot shine without a war—can’t pay,
sorry, for child care, can’t afford you a crumb
this is a dragon coming now, fiery delay
fire without smoke—get out of my way!
my plans for the future are scattered a-new,
there will come, between us, the light of day
thinking of my jazzy noblesse—mainly of you,
the bars are expanding, it won’t be long
i could live my whole life here, as is, now
this life is a good life if you are strong?
cobs in the pasture, feeding up the cow
I know you’ve been keeping your eye on me ”that’s right hon” (short for honey) “i’ll be with You or nobody, siding, always, with my squaw,” racist-lover, chauvinism runneth over, centuries of overkill i would never call you that in pub-lic (but i don’t think that matters) so i won’t say it at all
the devil would be real—if you treated Him as such; he’d be you (but then you never existed) so keep your foot off the clutch;
post my song any day of the week; to
You, my darling, animal in the sack
show off your neckline—make it come true
you’re just keeping me honest back
to the kids: just the right combination
of Puerto Rican fizz: now ball up your fist
the needle, friend, preempt his reputation,
be gentle, my nurse, don’t sharpen my wrist
wishin’ what have you, for the end to time
because, somehow, that’s where this all
begins—get mad: loving you isn’t a crime
think of the doors, walking down the hall
roll a spliff, why don’t you, happy at home
high as your breast, red as apple-skin
no need to double up - Satan’s a tome,
brown tells me for certain, we are not kin