Choose your voice carefully—I have many at my disposal. want to marry up, to a woman that’s better or at least as good as me; saving, friend, that i’ll never marry; don’t mean to drag you down with me—but Your confusion is clear: my sexuality is every bit as dark as we feared: oh, the things, one day, that i will do . . . shine a light on it; get it out there, normalize it, if, that is, you believe it to be good and real.
splitting brain cells, they divide and conquer, transform this frequency into a vector—a place, and a direction, in the bulk. going to the presidency - no time out of mind. but let me stop you right there: tell me you shaved it: my love is making waves,
as for me, this spot of inadequacy,
taking me to town. going to be the
president . . . but don’t think poorly of me,
young blood has stacked the deck, high as
a kite: put an end to the working class,
taxes on the rich, i vow, call me a parasite,
when, actually, it’s the other way around.
fight, young blood, do this with all your might
no way for you to stop me this job is
my life. tone down the rhythm, Van Gogh
is fighting for his life: but hold fire,
sister my faith, in some ways, will blow
you over, and then, on other days, not
so much: thinking, I’m lucky, go lay an egg
the battle between good and evil - plot,
then, His untimely demise. don’t need a
man to love the light that I shall divine
open a conduit to the future, where, to
them, what am I yet? super specimen
doing fine now that I’m crying, like You,
these are kind of fake tears, boo, i’m just
a little scared of all the things i do,
that will be done: this is my destiny
a strong word, i know, my pittance for
time spent without a family—watching
my kids live their lives; this body will
fail me—determine what lives and dies
taking one for the team, one connubial spill
marching ever forward - En avant! as they say: my home is here, in the USA, where the presidency awaits. Can’t travel back in time—what would I do, if I could? Can’t change who i am—can’t change the world, back then.
Paying for child care—paternity leave, etc., it’s all a little gay: deep seated hatred to out somebody, today. Hey nonny, nonny, His dick is meant for me—saving that it’s not . . . hold fire . . . see pussy and retire; going to be an old man, racking my brains: reconnoiter with the chosen one—a brunette with loads of shame. don’t try to be like me, or, if you do, push the limits in your own way—do your best to be You: and what, then, is that? What do they want you to be? Learn from what’s proven . . . then take a baby step
moving in His direction, this inflection -
steady, now, I’ll be sure to hit my target,
knowing, as i do, that I’ll suss his defection,
abandon the people that . . . it takes a village
they all raised me in their fucking image.
be at peace with the universe, riding
shotgun; You strip away my flare, I am
a token of despair - long forgotten, then
no place, in this life, for me to confide
make my own church: make loads of dough
give it to the poor, nothing, girl, to hide
so, when i’m your age, my ears will grow . . .