this situation unfolds, and, as I approach the infinite, scotch uncle calls out to me from the void: what will he say, knowing that he, above all people, never saw a thing? I don’t know how it’s going to happen—but I think I met, already, my one true love;
she’s everything to the party, playing it cool, sometimes for keeps—although we know, don’t we, that this never ends? Home is what you make of it, when, abandoned by a slippery few, our parents reunite with their wave—a place, in time, that nobody can denigrate
i have no reason to think—but it’s been thrust upon me; all this talk about my Norway blond—and i was really talking to me make it up to me nonny speaking out, absolutely, from this backwoods town—but i know how to answer positively—secure, then, the LGBTQ vote
Scour the earth—some people do, looking, i think, at what I’m worth, and how, if they must, they can shoot me down - the lone ranger among them, Tonto, be damned,
it’s time I started living my life as if
the White House, of all places, is a home
(instead of smoking this idiot spliff)
on to the next level—darling, I go
where you go—and you’re welcome,
then, to follow me; everything, now, is
so important: welcome to my ardent sum:
these aren’t ideal conditions, but who knows?
if I double down (and get ready to fight)
all of this will go to town; Jack’s in the
back—messing with the rhythm, sleight
of hand forever remains unforgiven,
since we—not you—actually understand:
you may not know you’re doing it, problem
seeker and the death of me, but His hand
is meant for everybody, including You
I assemble—preparing to rally the troops; living, no shit, in the kitchen, cooking up a fucking storm. this no-hitter is everybody’s best kept secret—many a person is pulling for me; but I think, deep down, they’re also thinking: “How can he choose them over me?”
Telepathic daughter, speaking across the bulk: a still small voice that calls me, “Dad.” can i prove her future is a choice? Not really, loco, it’s all in your head: saving that it’s not, is it? It all comes together . . . like déjà vu
there are things in this life that we cannot understand from the inside; and then there are things that never cease: We get older, now—but, love, this is my masterpiece
Stop me, then, from building a statue of myself: there’s a better way to go about it: make an unassuming mark, and then, after a while, your signature, in invisible ink, is revealed
yeah so i love you my darling—but I can see
now; nothing can stop me once i’ve got
them in the palm of my hand—tell us then
if I should put him, our leader, on the spot,
dishing out the criticism, a daily onslaught
the love, in me, that some people see,
and the hate, in others, that I contain.
paint instead of eat—for now, holy cow
rock star politician coming after me -
even she, my love, will not see me through
she can’t, of course, because I’m with You
a chip off the old block—saturnine wave in my way? Can’t wait, can I, to be the first schizophrenic . . . president. thought for a while, back then, that this was happening—but, at that time, my traps had not been set;
I remained unprotected—the enemy of my target. so a little method acting took me for a loop; started out as a lampoon, ended with a little self-inflicted annihilation
Every woman i want to be with—but we’re all looking for something else; the rise of His army: His return to the earth; look, then, my darling, Jesus waits in the wings: one day i’ll live forever—doing fascinating things.
But for now I’m just a little old bopeep; can’t claim to be the antichrist; that could happen, I guess—saving that, by now, I know better than the rest! Fuck the machine!
Psyche! On point: I’m coming—everybody knows who I am—maybe not in this life, but, in this life, who really gives a damn?
but this life is a synopsis of the life we lead
on the other side; dark side of the sun,
He wants me to be his bride: I’m just here
fucking Jesus—setting my booby traps,
drive the Christian nationalist out of his
goiter; yeah, so what? they do it in the butt
but we’ve established that already—so
what do i get, if not His vagina to cut?