tackling his idiotic shame, wrangling
for a better life—believing I’ll get there
so I’m happy as shit, rolling rawhide
from orbit to orbit. Well, chaos, darkness
is all they can see, and so, I must ask
(sticking to my guns), what’s wrong friend,
with a dick-less heaven? My Jesus, at one
time, loved me so, made me feel happy
wherever we’d go, mostly, then, to his
orgiastic dream . . . things suppressed by
the times—and this idea that a man can’t
live alone . . . that he must choose a wife
and make a family so that, in time, he
shan’t turn out to be a fucking parasite.
I’m living so far ahead of my time, leads
to frustration that I cannot define,
what’s driving me, then, to the future I love? love for another is what I’m dreaming of (just like anybody, in my po-sition, would) and so i let the dog out to befriend his best man—a prophet with a brown skinned tan. chunky sister so sure of herself, knows she’s the shit, so much so, well, fuck, I never had a chance—what gives, woman kind?
stop on a dime, then back to the quick time, how many beats per minute, well, aww, hell, I’m doing fine all’s good between me and myself—making my way a little slowly perhaps—since i need to be sure that I can fill in the gaps when gay loving should come my way
down and out, funky old man, well she’s hard as nails and I understand . . . no pussy for me since I live on the margins of society—shut out by the backchanneling that other people do: I compete, then, with the world i screw. Tight as twenty sided dice—come what may, dick in a vice, well dream on, then, but I’m saying, friend . . . this is not the life that, in heaven, I would be living
because I’m a full grown man—surrounded by those almost twice my age—and I’m getting fucking old to go round like a kid . . . trying to please what I never did. Semantics, yeah, the gravel hits the road—I’m trying to shine, I’m a star, I’m sublime, and yet, well, everybody knows, you can’t be sleeping around when you live at home
But home, love—is what? the place where
the people you love would live . . . and yet
I insist, when it comes to this; my home is
changing, slowly albeit, but nevertheless
natural then—i’m going there, gone for broke
look at this dusty little cowpoke, chucking
what comes the other way, save it for later,
calling them woke . . . think it’s a little lame
these days—appropriated by those with
nothing to gain; silly as me, feeling the shame
that comes with being something that the
people around you would never claim
so you be who you are—that’s the right
way to be—thinking I’m fundamentally
different, however, when it comes to
the night—i wield an ounce of courage for
my plight well, liquid angel, get off it
now—we’re going to a better country, now
living, then, if only for a time, with a steady
woman—and the daily backchannel that
everybody save me would certainly mind
creating content—but, friend, we go unseen,
liking the things that marginalize little
old me: i keep them stashed in a room
since there’s every opportunity
well, I’ll be a doctor one day, rich as them,
no better than the inhaler that lives in
heaven—well leave it all in the history
book, stem from the night owl and his
hook—swiveling dick over the fire,
can’t stand to be separated from those
i admire . . . well every action I ever took
brings me to the end of a book: read it
and weep if you’re feeling down, want
to feel better, so I fuck up the town,
assuming, then, a fraud identity
becoming the monster i never aimed to
be—but what the fuck, I ask, happens
to you, when, years off the bottle, you
get fucked in the butt—trying in to determine
both the input and, God forbid, what we
leave out—salt over my shoulder, cursed
once, by a voice so grand, expressing
nothing to a house full of the lips I pursed
when I set out, on purpose, to double
dick His broad—woman on a tangent,
amounting to something so important—
well, most people don’t realize that I’m bent
shaped by the hard knocks of an advent
the spirit ascending from the nether-life
looking in anger for a brand new wife,
well they don’t want what, with love, is rife
and, at the same time, lives totally free
nobody can take my free agency . . .
fuck to your mother you commie pig,
well I can’t stop the good that gets too big
penetrate the tool that the pussy would
use—getting high on life, being confused
tell me, then, when it all comes to an end
will you mingle with the mass that you send
across the great divide—pursed lips, mind
you, with everything to hide, beginning
to leak from the seams, feeling the strength,
no less, of what I know is good—wish they
could see what, in time will be understood
low down living with a feverish dream—i moved the mountain when I was seventeen; come back, lady luck, I still live here; a little older than I feel, realizing all that I might protect, given, damn, the chance you suspect . . . fucking a man in retrospect—stave off the woman
that would fuck up my plans: going to marry up, sister, in spite of it all—pleasing to some, looking just like a doll . . . well a two faced sister doesn’t scare what’s wet; penetrate my cookie and you’ll discover His target sugar in the womb, baby on the way: we’ll disagree, won’t we, on the things you say
conquer the devil that doesn’t exist: given the choice, I choose to resist fight, yet, a losing battle—failure overtaking every level—forthright player, dick so bright: take this brown skinned woman and give her a fright thanks for joining us, my little snow-queen, as you might imagine the life I lead can get obscene—i protect you from that for as long as I can, until, at last, one woman, one life, the life I demand—save it, Tonto, you wouldn’t understand, but, if you did, I’d consider your bid—make me your equal and I’ll show you the ropes, take a dozen cock-eyed blokes, make a million off the masses, fuck the poke, woman on woman going up in smoke