thinking long and hard about the woman
behind the man . . . snitches get stiches,
I hope you understand. Son of a gun,
he could be anyone; that’s what he says
take it in the ass—just like everyone:
vilify the rich—just this arrogant
son of a bitch; we’ll give the yellow sun
the answer to His medieval question,
going to pieces. look lady luck, be
a partner to me: sitting behind, friend,
the love of my life - coming and going
i take a knife, Kemosabe, to be the end—
at the hands of damnation; all of Him
i loved you in the beginning, before all
of this—talk of the bible, commitment
and such i can’t make any promises—
can’t lie, either, and say I’m praying for
them, the loser that appears, with His fist
this isn’t going to stretch—you got a raw deal. don’t want to be a part of the beard and his scam: Living life in the fast lane, you do whatever you can . . . and then you what? Ger married to them? Becoming a member of the white man’s Klan? But I don’t love you, honey—that’s not how I feel; I love someone else that person is for real
what am i, then, but an eternal ass
tied to a plow, turning, now, to the right
going to the bathroom to pass His gas,
got to keep His love alive—don’t I write?
Answer my letter? Bitch is full of shit
don’t tell me, sister, that you’re falling for
it, roasting a pig—that’s the half of this
i let you into my life, blood and gore
to boot—add a dash of salt; lucky man
in the living room. He’s got his dick in
his hand. Thinking of His surgery, can
you imagine, do tell: evil coming for me:
don’t follow that path; he’s as gay as sin
which, considering—what, now? We’re on
point? Aren’t we? Golden eagle once again,
thinking of his liver: drink until dawn
wind up in the shower—got to get the
blood flowing back into my pretty face
pale as His gambit: they are a disgrace.
I’ve said it before: They are me, and to
make this fair; dye you’re fucking hair
bring the business to me, shaving my legs
all the way up—she’s kissing ass for Him,
thinking of the team—and the other room
Get this shit out of me; You are a clown,
saving that I’m not, when you’re not around
look what this woman did to me, ruin
of the town; don’t try to cheat this life by
walking into heaven: you’re not welcome
there if you’re not welcome here, lady
luck in my back pocket—taking a test
got to add up a realistic tantrum -
got a little rhythm; low down New Yorker; saving they voted for Him; he is my savior—he gets things done; well that would be me, a call to arms, my friend, and, yet, what is this? Medieval Scotland. Don’t count your lucky stars—I’m after a mate: somebody a trillion times better than what I, selling myself short, had on my plate.
Fucking bitch of a woman; judgmental and drunk: wants to get Jesus back for being Himself; thought I saw you looking on the other side of the shelf.
Eyes of despair—friction I can feel; don’t turn up the heat; TV shows with happy endings—trying to make me weep: I should be doing something else; talking in my sleep
want this woman so bad, but I’m right to
hesitate; finding fault, sometimes, with the
way this cow looks . . . what the fuck does it
mean—can You let me, lass, off the hook?
That’s just me being scared of getting what
i want—knowing damn well, heaven ain’t
for rent: I’m no saint, but I’m going to faint
thinking too much about why she cannot
be here—ain’t my work built to give cheer?
Force my accent down your throat - one
day everybody will be talking about me,
queer man that chose polyamorous love
choosing His battles when push comes to shove
watch out Harlem wanna be, tell it to me
straight: My horse was the first out the gate
what can i say that will bring you closer to
me—I heard you swear, i’m in, lass, on the
conspiracy: Down with the despot, he’s
already dead: foolish old man, gone to
His head,
put Him on welfare—force him to rely on the rich: pay me now or later—I’m going to fucking kill it. Yes, brownstone Mama, too poor to tell, i want someone else to come out of their shell - do you feel the nostalgia for this time of my life when I’m really doing it
what things are really like—but it’s hard not to look ahead: access to His love; i meant through a woman, and the future that happened, already, hereof. Yeah so what’s to get me down—paving the way; this side of the sun,
get there today. Living in the stone ages, compared to this my legacy; what, in the future, can’t you read? converging to a point: save me for later: get this woman pregnant—she’s meant for two men; that would be me, and, also, I can’t deny my friend.