itching for something behind my ear,
what happened to my pencil? so I write,
you’re everything , darling, that i fear,
a friend to freckles—goes bump in the night,
zooming out, want to see the big picture,
a body, sweet friend, that can’t be helped, go
tell it on the mountain—He is for sure,
methamphetamines, kid, is all we know
take it for depression—makes you kill Jews
this wayfaring traveler frightens me,
Nazi Germany—isolate His fuse
that’s the best it’s been in a few weeks, now; thinking in the voice of a Norwegian frau; occupy the country with a stick and a wig—telling my friends that their cock is big. Don’t know why i’m so driven: i’m not wholly myself, living with a heterosexual condition;
but enough of that cries out the rabbit
friend to those that would eat him alive—
i need to make, don’t I, a determined exit
but i need something to load up my hive
worker bees buzzing with meaningless life,
call her, quick, thinking of Iceland and me
poking the bear to entertain my wife
she leaves me, yet, if I don’t end it for free
no guilt, stranger, between you and us
going out on a limb—she’s drawn to us; and yet, alas, getting suckered in: thinking i can have my cake and eat it too: what do you mean by that? here is my woman and she has thought this through:
these voices—yours, His, and mine, too, all sound increasingly more alike; can’t tell the difference, then, when my blood sugar would spike aw, come on, you know me well ”Shakespeare in the alley”— not doing so well;
but i love You, my female God, part and parcel of every decision i’ve ever made, bringing me here, to voice my opinion—to see, for a moment, if you want me, too
I can’t believe it—we can’t believe it,
guess i’d lie a little, to myself, if
it got me high as an elf, check, then, His orbit
who’s that chasing my exponent spliff
on the one hand we’re huge, on the other
we’re stiff; don’t want to mislead you,
what would you do for me? I would prefer
outsider company for what I must do
hook, line, and sinker, this primordial
stew—dishing out the actor, black
and white—nothing to see, nothing to gull
just two consenting adults, get back!
let it happen, sister, don’t get me wrong
the more gorgeous you get the smaller
i feel—can’t, because of that, sing a song
not until the butcher has left me for sure
can’t have him observing the light i defer
He is in me, i am a part of him, connected
across time, part parcel, part colander,
paying my dues—over forty, giving head
until it don’t feel right—do this instead
banshee woman—radio wave i can see
take me to your leader: if not I’m dead
alien for breakfast, now i’m going to bed; what are you feeling, sister—local brew of mine? we’re going to Rome to upchuck and die; loving up the background, too much for the sky—is it a crime if i would prefer blue eyes?
But there’s a hell of a lot more than that going on—especially if you have secrets that you’re bound to keep; i can hear you strong arm your way to sleep; old man respectable getting drunk with me;
so sad, really, underneath it all; thinking i must be something I’m not—like married, lass, to the love of my life, when, in fact, that variable is always changing
keep me sharp, then, and tuned to your school
i amplify your voice—i don’t even know why,
totally in denial, at one point the fool
tried to be what i was, shot down when i try
I’m actually the real thing, superman, man of
steel, married to the bulk, the woman i feel
sort of thinking anyhow, of passionate love
the kind that takes ennui and closes the deal
yeah—i hear you; don’t know how long this
road will go—you’re a constant, honey, in my
life; as I move forward you give up a kiss,
one of us, at that point, will diminish and sigh
thinking of the good times—what a surprise
but this was expected from beginning to end,
you love a little on Tuesday, then Jesus dies,
and, when he does, we take the time to mend
all the little lies that keep us together; i see
it in your eyes, no lines around your mouth
we go for the gold—and keep them to me
young blood, new love, this path goes south
I’m just trying to interpret the vocal line, if it differs, on purpose, from my woman’s shrine—loving my books—part of her husband is with me, here, that’s the way it works—we’re a composition of the people we love;
when i return to heaven—i’ll recognize Him soon enough, man on a mission, marching from You to me; take the wife, now—and hang her from a tree; a joke, a joke, i confess, I’m unwell; angry as piss because i assume i must live a lonesome life: when the truth is far from that, i find; yea, noble sky-walker; until we meet again
don’t go telling me my wife, my God, loves
me any less; you stay too long with one
person and you’re loving pushes and shoves
makes a miserable transition—an earthly
life, that is! Why must we suffer, here
on earth? I mean why must we feel physical
pain, and, on top of that, top heavy fear,
the kind that rips you apart—leaves a skull
i’m just asking because it’s not understood,
you think time is an engine, all things must
end; if they end badly, then, you’ll do good
when, in heaven, you go for broke or bust
can’t figure out the house for this lust,
living the question—poses the dream,
fair enough, for now, so you are sussed,
found out by my master, and it would seem
die a nasty death—be afraid, suffer
to no comprehensible end; you do
nothing wrong—but you see, under
me—you got close, love, to His fire
you can take that with you when you
leave the house; feeling the energy
of the man you, at one point, did accrue
smaller terms that point to the soul they see