Now you’re back again, swearing that you’ll be my friend after you do to me what you do to him; well, this is just me, can’t get off unless I fucking betray somebody method acting for the road, don’t know when I’ll be getting home—well, thinking, shithead, that this is a dream and the person I am is on the way . . . would you like to be somebody else, just for a day?
No, on the contrary, I’m somebody else every day of the week—the person I am lives in heaven; he’s not forced, do tell, into method acting, becoming the voice of God knows how many. Well, do your thing, abomination to woman kind, look what happens after you do time complicated fantasy . . . striking at the quick—i know normal people don’t experience this
living a life in jeopardy—that’s all i see, the people that came and went long before me: well, I know a little something about their identity; they exist, lo, because they have the capacity to believe—whether they choose to or not is beside the point; everybody going to heaven that, in fact, actually exists—we can be sure, friend, that this is, for some, a godforsaken matrix . . .
Add up all the energy in the room—clowns be damned for waking up too soon; loving a woman that loves me back—making progress, then, in this life, the one, i think, that means the most to me - cozy up to my woman, then, asking myself the question: when, exactly, does the betrayal begin—and what does that say about me? My mission?
Stop talking shit: you’re full of nonsense. But you know, sweetheart, that isn’t true—everything I do is meant to make you perfectly happy where you are—dime store novel, this is where we are; Cinderella story, getting me down, she’s going to put on another twenty pounds . . .
it’s not her fault: but I can’t give up the ghost
living for tomorrow like fucking glasnost,
it all comes out - the shit, my friend, hit the
fan . . . there’s no denying the scandal I am
but really, loco? the woman i see means
a sex life and, to boot, confidentiality
read me in if you want—save i’m the one
with the knowledge—trading perspective
for the onset of happiness, living for me
instead of the actress—push comes to shove
slide right out of my glove, made, for Him,
impartially. Matchmaker from heaven,
I’m here, now, to line them up, stepping
from woman to woman like a professional
hiccup—ganglier then, what dimension?
well they all get combined after ten
when the kids are finally down for the count.
the life I lead might make you a little mean,
getting frustrated about circumstances,
a perfectly healthy prostate, off the meds
angry at my doctor for flipping heads
belt it out, sister, you were born for this—
taking a swing at a ten time incumbent,
but I won’t ask, again, how you can be
so fucking sad—when, gay loving, is soon
to be had . . . blond on blond nightmare,
coming home to roost; thinking a little,
well, the chickens, friend, come home to roost
I draw to an end—closer, now (than I’ve
ever been) to heterosexuality, but that
could change in an instant, i know the ropes
living a dream, including a stethoscope,
heart murmur? Can I believe this guy?
He seems like he wants to jizz in my eye
telling me about pornography, listening
i guess, to a voice in his chest, but I
digress—well you get what you deserve
karma is a bitch . . . a little ho-down
is what plays out next—winding up lonely
as the next: the action that I take
looks harsh in retrospect; but, friend, this
is serious shit nobody understands
an imperfect mindset . . . gunning for her
halfheartedly, now, facing reality,
the stamina of a cow; well I chew my
life away—down into my average back,
once covered with acne that makes the
world black—well, you get, sometimes,
a blessing like that—keep me from getting
married—dying of mortal combat,
well i’ll be back—don’t know if this can
last: a woman like that isn’t built to
resist—we’ll give in, then, to a communist
sucking, fuck it, my golden thumb,
everything i touch is for ransom, stick
it to the bride—what the fuck is the
surprise—thinking, nonny, that you’re
a far fucking cry from a pair of blue eyes.
So I get what I want—saving it’s revealed
it was all a sham, a fantasy, so what,
now, do i keep my fucking eyes peeled?
I see my God—He is what he is, a condition
i think, that gives us permission, loving
each other at the expense of another,
everybody knows everything comes with
an ounce of shame—leastways in this life
but let me ask: once in heaven, is this a
hard pass? I build my life thinking you
live there—but, to be honest, I don’t know
if, after all this time, i should care less
so maybe the cards will suit the condition,
brown eyes trumped by my fucking condition,
eager to please, so keep it together,
loving the person that’s loves whatever