I must be really old fashioned because
these kids live in their underwear while I live in my sweatsuits.
My dog is scratching at the door and her claws are breaking, her fingers are bleeding
and I am not allowed to open the door.
Where is the justice I was promised to have?
In sheets of newspaper beneath my bed sheets,
I see nothing, hear nothing more than I'm dealt privately.
And in the privacy of my father's house I am dealt no justice.
Where more is this heaven I've been seeking?
I've climbed as high as the stars so far and I'm seeing no more than I'm feeling.
Where are the artists, the scholars I've been promised to meet?
I see them not here, and I know not where else to seek.
One minute is a square wheel that will not get on faster
even if I push against the wall of it with each one of my chakra stones.
Don't know which lever to pull. Both the same color, both the same girth, both the same tool to piss with.
But enough with my troubles. I ask the beings between the molecules:
What is the next thing that I should be?
And they tell me, great hero, great scholar, great queen.
You are the one they are anxious to meet.
And I reply, fuck you!
Were I a genius among them and a captain of heathens,
would it be lousy? It'd be crooked.
Or is it the right way to give in to the absurdity of the words,
to allow myself to go blazing mad.
Burning through life like a cigarette. Lit by hormones.
Hormones to push the pus to the surface of my ruddied mug.
Candles in my ears burning. Earwigs who creep in deep.
Make families in there. Invite mosquitoes to shove their knife lips
in through my skin.
If the red hot lover boy calls, I will tell him,
I am reading about physiology.
and he'll run far away, far into the hot white sun
to be away from me
like all them other ones.