6.3.26 Poem Untitled 1 #65

Emerging from something, so show me your
gun—polite as reindeer in the afternoon
sun  well, there we go, warp speed’s a no,
and I’m feeling the ache of an earthquake

rattling my bones  jackhammer and sea salts,
taking a bath: I’d get off the sauce but
that wasn’t my path mystery rider
ghost rider in the azure sky—he faults

his predecessor and I think i know why
tables turn—finally a spot of light
living in the distance, so we do or die
choking up, love, when we come together

one race, one people, one love to discover
well the rhyme is fine, let the woman in,
I can’t imagine that I’ll be celibate
forever - and so what, then, if I am?

It’s not my fault. I walk the only road
I can—you can’t always have His cake
and distribute it, too, jackhammer
morning, is there nothing i can do?

Slow sipping in heaven, light up the room
walking through shadows in the morning,
at that point, no jackhammer lives there,
thinking a little, love, that I’ll be a groom

but that’s just backtalking from someone
else, someone that isn’t happy as me,
comparing myself to a cigarette tree
wondering, next, if you can smoke there

too, minus the damage to heaven’s lung
breathing in and out, collect His ransom
don’t know, sister, what your heaven includes,
but I want to be there so that i can choose

the person He goes to when the chips are
down; call him Jesus if you must  but
if you prick him, then he will bleed, far
and way the man, I’m certain, is to pay

won’t be celibate forever—want to get
close to the glasnost; but, no, falling apart
and but, yes, I’ll get it together, be,
for me, the camera I aim, a-trying to

capture His goods in the frame: Don’t
know why I’m ever abusing myself,
how long will i be separated from my
true identity—man of the hour, turns

to shit: Write on his gravestone, and
he’ll quit: saving the good life, written
in the water that we all would disown
given the chance to get in her pants,

embody the action and be all the romance
that anybody can stand; we’re in this
together, hand to mouth, what a chance
at salvation—the tiger will pounce;

living for butt fucking his future rhyme
wake up an angel, something divine,
saving yeah, i’m actually in the alley
as we speak—which is a turn for the best

I can be . . . the kernel, however, is still
there . . . telling me I’m not already there
his hate, no less, hating on me; waiting
for my album—go spank the monkey

and tell me what you see—shaking his
spear so half-heartedly: Well, get a little
more between me and Him, convolute
His every candlelight function  party

like there’s no tomorrow—whatever
that means . . . living the dream, bopeep
it seems  flossing my teeth because that’s
what we do: don’t care much about that

got a woman to bend  time and space
chewing up the fat . . . loving straight out
the pussy is all i can do: impregnate every
butt fucking clue; slide it down a little,

shifting my stance; this is your president
with his dick in the oven . . . fucking in
heaven like we used to do; turning you
out because it’s what you want me to do

super spell cast on my former twat, grave
as hell because I’ve been put on the spot
well it’s all coming out, now, so be good
to me—plotting, i guess, to overthrow

this country. What’s done, now, is between
me and Him - living on TV, the news
is all about me: laughing my ass off, now,
because I can’t do it, then; if i did i’d

violate the prime directive. Convince
you I’m an angel between your thighs
well, show up, for me, and I’ll align
with your stars—gas, then, and on to Mars

next stop, however, would be my home
town—fathered by the bard, a spirit
that, well, I recognized, happy as shit
back then, my dream come true, I mean

as much to Him as He means to you:
get ready, warp drive, hidden frequency
coming, dear heart, to expand our day
loving each other in the month of May

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