that woke up one day and gave us a shout. now what, “forsooth” am i to do? put you in air quotes and let you stew? the man in the castle is the man I despise; he thinks he’s funny when he’s drunk: portray me as Jesus—but that would be blasphemous
were you thinking, sweet, that you could hide,
if you were Jesus, then He couldn’t be me,
and that’s the whole point that must coincide
grow a beard, then, to look more Godly
hey, hey, whatever gets you laid; whatever
they find attractive—what else can you do?
just wondering, kid, why you grab a razor
and put it to your chest—go on, who knew
that you loved an old lady the PM bought
a mystery, dear heart, to little old me,
not a sex predator—i gave what i got,
which is naught, at this stage, actually
thinking my true love can read my mind—and yet i think that i’m the only one in the room that can tune the garbage out—enough, anyhow, to be heard; a still small voice that runs counter to our story,
a man’s quest for redemption—knowing darn well he must keep himself hidden (until all this blows over), which happened once—forget the middle-man, go straight to Alexandria—the future, i insist, of the democratic party
but what can i say to make you indulge,
afraid, are we, that our children (what?)
won’t carry the weight that we divulge
when we choose a loser that we’d gut
given the chance to live, that is, between
the lines, outside of His reach, until
He climbs back into the cockpit, seen
by many, heard by a few, be a council
in and of yourself,
determined to frame what our weakness begot? you do it to yourself, America; but what’s that, in the wings? don’t you think we’re capable of terrible things? pushed around—until the liquor catches up, and, well, we’re forced to drink wine in a cup
hidden from the ceiling and such; ever present eyes, forbidden to touch:
I love you nonny, when it comes down to the clutch; making music—calling Him to the podium; O look, a doctor has arrived with his golden orb; the red cross is all around—he died, did he? In the second world war?
hey, nonny, nonny don’t you look up to me?
i found myself once, in your position,
working for idiots that i manage for free
expressing His secrets without contradiction
shove it up your . . . you weigh what you weigh
alas, nobody wants to screw me, thinking,
without His permission, without delay,
you want to screw, sister? then wear a ring
once bitten but shy to the end of time
she doesn’t know me, but I’m on her mind
i love my master—is that a crime?
no war, for me: their love is ill-defined