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 dick-less heaven? My Jesus, at one
time, loved me so, made me feel happy

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

diseased lightning striking me twice, don’t
know all these people, their head in a vice
so what if none of them, in my heaven,
exist—or even worse, they exist elsewhere

every bit as good as me. but i believe the
way we live our life informs us in
the life to come—to be outstanding, here,
and, therefore, there, is the favored outcome

Shiver me timbers . . . bitch is cold as hell
walking into a rainstorm  hear the knell
a warning from sister time far and wide
i just want to cut my grass and drink beer,

loco—don’t know what you’re on about
transwoman living inside of my heart,
don’t know why i’m spooked, there’s no doubt
everybody here has to do their part

fancy dinero speak of the rising sun:
I’m coming for you angel, three cheers for
me; watching what you’re doing down there
fucking me like crazy: it’s you i adore,

making mountains out of molehills, got to
be sure; well, friend, you are handsome
enough: can’t wait to meet a woman like you,
propel me, god willing, one step closer

I absorb the shock of seeing this through—method acting all over again, get down to business, push this bitch off a ledge. Down we go—i did it for the dough: dipshit woman, you do what you know
Irritated as hell, he says what he must. likes to lead me on  target on his back. hold fire: you might want to rethink the gambit; fucking in a broom closet, skin white as pearls;
i want to be where the action is—but the action, my friend, is in my head; the fifth dimension makes this possible—no need to go anywhere, to do anything that would, necessarily, be seen . . . we live in my mind;

Careful, now, laws of me, pinpoint his
anger—they’re also coming for me;
take this to the next level: hideous ex,
wielding power over what I haven’t

reclaimed yet. Don’t be a fool, I’m becoming
me, i’ll get there on time, Indian time,
if, my friend, that’s what makes you agree
take what you can—He’ll be what He is,

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,

talking shit to the town—out of my mind,
the pressures of the real world get to me;
safe, here, in my lair—my parents defined
so what happens when my benefactor

merges with my spine? coming for me
the man that i was; but hold fire –
i paid for my sins; you have no idea
how loud his judgment was in my head

hoping fore a little give and take, feedback
from the loop; inside a black hole, nothing
to scoop; save a little here and there, i
connect the fucking dots – so frustrating,

living on borrowed time; but the deeper
this gets the deeper this goes, look, if
you must, at Vincent Van Gogh, sleeper
cell in a backroom, calls the fucking shots