the white horse is back, black Jack be fooled
some strange combination eats me alive
flashing from one screen to those i schooled,
but that’s too black, and i lose the hive
hellbent on forcing me to give up the ghost
i can feel the wave but, laws, not the pulse
but i’ll get there by the time i need you most,
and the messiah, do tell, is keeping time
be careful, love, when you turn up the sound
the sound was clipping when I was afloat
before, that is, the messiah was around
his message, my friend, is slippery and bold - to say, as he does, that he’ll never grow old; but his light, in the next life, will merge with our soul, and, when it does, we spin out of the devil and His control
you wont find anything on me—but surely, yes you will, saving that, however, i vacated that seat, and I know exactly how to respond for example, i’d get drunk and grope—it was all a game, to me, at the time; but i don’t get drunk anymore, for one thing, and, for another, i have hope
Now, in the next life, my sins be damned, saving me, the residue, as He planned. it’s a chilling tale, when you are young and half your true self won’t fit in the house married, as we are, to His book, a collection, what have you, of a snake in the grass
Rise up, my love, Norway blond, and change this country into something that would make me adequate; i hate the time i live in—i belong to the future when, like alien life, we are more civilized than this
what alien life? the kind that live forever; or, at least, the kind that live for a thousand years; only then, friend, do we insist: no, my son, you are forced to exist!
four cans of soda into the mix - i cling,
don’t i, to what, otherwise, i might have missed?
so i look forward to the blond i love,
an angel of darkness to counter a bleak
snow covered landscape—my life, i insist
represents his flame; you can feel the glove
that i applied, when, in anger, i couldn’t resist
i think, sometimes, that our fates, hereof
have somehow become intertwined -
we’re bound to cross paths at some point in time
look for me high and low, see what you find,
you’ll love me when you discover my rhyme
that’s what i want! not to be worshipped;
that would go against the grain - leaving
me angry at an unrighteous God, shipped
as it were, to another country - a king
that, perhaps, doesn’t know everything
will i be the greatest artist of all time?
Too dense, for some—but that does not sting,
since, dear, loving, for me, is not a crime,
it goes on forever: my orphan lies ahead
she is my equal—keeps me sane in bed,
smelly dick to boot: i’m better off dead—
an acquired taste? [shit smells like shit]
but it’s like this: puke up peyote and get high
goes on for days—you forget about that,
thinking of the visual and it’s happy effect
ears like knives that arouse mortal combat
with the devil and his heir: a man that died
in the electric chair: payback is a bitch,
Laws a’ me and Lord have mercy: I tried
my best to flip his hallucinogenic switch
connecting one love, one friend, to another
angels across time—sex with each other,
growing your hair out—just like I prefer,
sucks to wash unless you love what it does
makes your man crazy: push comes to shove
a change of mind: musical chairs be damned,
keep to your fiancé, if you must, his love
is my love—I exist in him; a bit crammed
into a corner—Congress is not in session:
but hold fire: I’m losing Norway blond
if I continue to entertain this impression:
i can’t help it—can’t choose between us
the transformation is incomplete. I tend
to my business, minus Your voice, just
a fantastic line and the setbacks i blend
I accept his call: [fuck me if you must]
there’s no two ways around it: obsessed
with making His love the means, but for
now, i turn down the sound, caressed
once or twice by His hand—nothing more
can come, i think, from this hell bent direction
and yet i’m entirely the author of this:
not every mistake is an imperfection
and yet the mistakes, I insist, are mine