boondock, passing the time, thinking only of what my true love has to say about all the things she did today; you might think i’m not interested, but her voice represents my son, or some angelic daughter, you know the one; living far off in the future, so far, so down, that their life is in jeop-ardy, and they’ll find themselves underneath it all, if that is, i don’t draw them a map:
no telling what my true love we’ll do when she discovers that I’ve been chasing after You - a season for every reason, me thinking you’re thinking of me thinking—trying, ha, to talk to me now! exactly as planned, sweetheart, i look beyond you, too, connect, don’t i, through you, to the indefinite future, miles ahead of what I wouldn’t do
to be in the same room with You; that can happen, how do you think—in heaven, friend, a dangerous place; not all, do tell (we live forever) it’s cracked up to be, is it? But we move to regions of increasing order, now, i say, leaving chaos behind, i come to your doorstep, riding blind, thinking love, that, this time, maybe, i might ejaculate;
no dice kiddo—i’ve been like this for years—gives you some idea of how bad things got, to put up with all this, even if, well, a girlfriend, for a basement dweller, is a long shot; but yeah—you say, so much we don’t know, such as communication with the other side, in the freight, lass, that we stow, sending messages back and forth across the bulk,
they turn it off completely, don’t they, but you surface anyhow, in other ways—i’ll revisit this now that i’m stabilized—libido to your frequency, into the bulk, sowing the seeds that will be the food, love, that we eat
cobs to the cows, i remember this, child
to the pasture, the son that I, for love, divest
thinking, yo, to be rawhide and wild,
i know, for example, that you’re in a dress
why? so many of my children, sunny and gay,
quiet or bleak—punished by his fate
aren’t you going, yellow ochre skin, to stay
i just want to know, when, if, can we date
To think i’d walk a country mile to put
an end to the banter we slowly defile
i see you seeing me—did i put my foot
in my mouth already? Going out in style
in a bang, the better to chase off the djinns
living, after this, with peace on the brain,
until, that is, a stranger with no wins
to his name—lawyer talk for the insane
come on, chiquita—don’t calm me chica
warning you, dude, about being a jerk
this isn’t Russia—this is America,
come off it before she goes berserk
tuning fork, please, to scare off the worm
she’s talking back to me—don’ t let me
by misunderstood—I won’t make you squirm
thinking of the love i once felt for this country
when—low, when was that? Ever since, I guess
everybody else was worse, but that’s no
reason to wind up in a relationship mess,
think Christian origin, think Christian fellow
false front, a family man, he will provide
where are you getting these statistics,
we support you because we’re unqualified,
you’re just a bunch of sloppy swinging dicks
and I’m the little warrior that drives you out
go down, child? what are they pondering,
what, exactly, is my shoulder on about?
do i need to understand? Can’t I be king
like any man? I say, dear Lord, no trans,
but the woman in me is coming friend,
accept that and the foreman bangs his pans
go tell it on the mountain, can’t end
it like this, shouting out of accomplishment,
female rawhide integrating a pole
stop me, cutie-pie, before I’m spent
safety was always my everlasting goal
to make you safe in heaven, too, a land
that abounds with it’s own problems, who?
He is me, He is you, but, to be fair, what panned
for gold in the waters of the teen you screw?
So i go through all this to talk to them,
the country and the religion that the djinn
condescend (opting out of what they stem)
forcing each other, then, to outlive the sin
heading off, in time, to another planet
another universe, another rhyme, but we
start here, you gangster, willy-nilly get
what you want and love your family
this is heaven all over—each level is best
a rose for a rose is a rose—depends on
who you got it from: take this gentle test
remove the polyp that lives to turn on
the sexuality of my brown skinned fawn
nothing but chiquita, a banana I rue,
screwing us sideways and, now, be gone
speaking to me by speaking through You