don’t know how you keep your cool—seems like you’ve thought about this; but, when you do, in my experience, you get nervous. we’re going, hot mama, to bring this country down (as if you need my help) and, when we do, i’ll be sure to vote, naturally, for you.
Silly, so silly, this is all about me; i’m just talking to myself, in a foreign country. Daddy thinks i’ll get arrested—or sued for all I’m worth; so i use code names to keep this about the planet earth.

wasting away at the corners, hemmed up
running out of money, hatred in my cup
thinking devil be darned, don’t want to swear
thinking back on the good times, if you care

hey, party-man, pretty boy in plaid, this is the lone ranger, dressing up in drag; you want to be a woman? not exact-ly that—but, on occasion, yeah, if it helps me shut my trap.

Tonto, my injun, on the horizon:
kind of hard to see—riding due west—
what does love say? in from the cold?
Always be good, and always do your best

my true love is spilling out at the seams
my ambition, for her, reeks like perfume
applied, do tell, to cover up the smoke
a past that sucks up what’s left in the room

This sprawling, feverish poem reads like a consciousness trying to outrun itself. The speaker swings between self-loathing, swagger, humor, spiritual exhaustion, and sudden tenderness, creating a voice that feels unstable but intensely alive. Lines such as “the sound i hear is a phone that won’t ring” compress loneliness into a brutally ordinary image, while “approaching mathematical perfection; my love is crazy as fuck” captures the poem’s collision between intellect and emotional chaos. The work’s power comes from its refusal to settle into one tone: vulgarity sits beside lyricism, despair beside absurd comedy. References to “the underclass,” “heroes,” and “justice for the shunned” suggest a wider social vision beneath the personal unraveling. Readers drawn to raw, unfiltered psychological poetry would find this difficult to forget.

This piece reads like a furious jazz improvisation performed at the edge of social collapse. Its power comes from the collision of raw confession, political outrage, grotesque humor, and sudden vulnerability. The structure is deliberately fractured: long prose-like bursts give way to tighter rhymed stanzas, creating a rhythm that feels unstable but intensely alive. Lines such as “the enemy within, dear friend, is the enemy without” show the poem’s ability to turn inward conflict into cultural critique, while images like “Satan sits / a dollop of mayonnaise in his ice cream” reveal a surreal comic imagination beneath the anger. The frequent shifts in voice and tone mimic a spiraling consciousness trying to hold itself together through language. What makes the poem compelling is not polish, but velocity—the sense that every line risks losing control yet somehow lands with force.

Emotional survival is paramount in this chaotic inner monologue that shifts between confession and attack. The poem moves from violent and surreal images—“sniper among us,” “roasting a pig,” “Pervitin cockpit”—to deeply personal reflections about aging, regret, institutional mistreatment, and isolation. A recurring tension runs through the work: the desire to connect battling against self-loathing and distrust of others. The narrator imagines alternate lives (“if I’d gotten off the sauce”), struggles with compulsive behavior, and lashes out at society while also pleading for understanding. References to politics, mental illness, addiction, romance, and masculine insecurity collide into a restless psychological landscape. The result is a raw portrait of someone trying to hold onto their identity and their dignity while feeling spiritually cornered by modern life.

This sprawling poetic sequence blends political rage, loneliness, masculinity, fantasy, and cultural decay into a surreal inner monologue spoken by a narrator who feels both trapped inside society and strangely elevated above it. Moving between satire and confession, the poem attacks racism, political extremism, media obsession, and the empty pursuit of power while also revealing a desperate longing for love, meaning, and human connection. Lines such as “the fire is alive and it cannot stop” and “living in a nutshell—His infinite sky” create a prophetic, unstable atmosphere in which personal breakdown and national collapse seem inseparable. The speaker drifts through visions of future power, failed relationships, addiction, and isolation, yet remains darkly funny and self-aware. The result is a chaotic but compelling portrait of a mind trying to survive modern America without surrendering its imagination.

The text follows a speaker trapped in a relentless struggle between desire, memory, ego, and intrusive fantasy, shifting rapidly between romance, rage, philosophy, and dark humor. Women merge into a “female God,” a figure representing love, validation, temptation, and emotional survival, while the speaker remains fixated on a “Norway blond” and an ex who continue to haunt his thoughts. Again and again, he tries to regain control—“nip it in the bud before she hijacks my brain”—only to be overwhelmed by impulses and imagined voices that might seem stronger than his willpower. The poem mixes high and low language with startling speed, moving from Nietzsche and predestination to “football, asshole” and “pee / in the exponential function.” That collision of intellect, lust, comedy, and moral struggle creates a fascinating battle between self-destruction and self-awareness that drives the poem forward.

A fractured speaker moves through obsession, faith, guilt, art, and longing while trying to hold onto some vision of redemption. The poem shifts between apocalyptic imagery, confessions of past cruelty and addiction, surreal spiritual encounters, and a desperate search for love strong enough to counter despair. A mysterious “messiah” figure hovers throughout the piece, symbolizing both salvation and instability, while the speaker wrestles with ego, self-hatred, desire, and the fear of losing himself completely. Amid the chaos, there is also tenderness: a yearning for connection, for transformation, and for a future where humanity becomes more compassionate and evolved. The poem reads like a fever dream stitched together from prophecy, heartbreak, and personal reckoning—raw, volatile, and strangely intimate in the way it exposes a mind fighting to survive itself.

The poem presents a speaker unraveling emotionally and psychologically while trying to hold together identity, love, sexuality, politics, faith, and artistic ambition. The voice swings between fascination and collapse, suggesting someone overwhelmed by loneliness, medication changes, obsessive desire, and public self-consciousness. The speaker contrasts himself with the object of his desire, whom he describes as “bursting with self-confidence and joy,” while admitting that he feels unable to measure up to that energy. “Norway blond” functions as a symbolic ideal that competes with the speaker’s fixation on a “brown skinned woman,” reflecting conflicting desires, fantasies, and anxieties. The poem mixes vulgarity, tenderness, fantasy, and confession in a stream-of-consciousness style that deliberately blurs sincerity and performance. Political references, sexual imagery, and self-mockery merge into a portrait of a man trying to create meaning through language while feeling alienated from both society and himself.

This reads like a transmission from a mind at war with itself—spiritual, romantic, self-mocking, prophetic, and painfully human all at once. What makes it compelling is the way it swings between tenderness and chaos without ever fully settling into either. Lines like “water under the bridge, in the well, swell / good enough when I was all but your doormat” carry bruised intimacy, while the surreal momentum of “telepathic—teleportation—talent, at that” pushes the poem into dream logic. The repeated “Norway-blond” figure becomes a haunting emotional anchor amid the spiraling reflections on religion, addiction, sex, violence, and identity. The speaker’s voice is reckless yet deeply self-aware, especially in moments where prejudice or cruelty are immediately questioned and corrected in real time. This is difficult, unfiltered poetry that feels lived rather than manufactured—equal parts confession, fever dream, and philosophical monologue.