Amazed and confused.
My aura is bruised.
God knows what?
We are not amused.
It’s almost all of a sudden.
From 0 to 100—Always.
Tracking mud in the fucking hallways.
My buddy said:
"Nobody is perfect on the inside.”
He’s so right.
You only listen to me
strictly when you need epiphanies.
Like the icing on your sticky disease.
You have no idea what level I’m on.
Neither do I.
I’m a reverb junkie and I’m high.
“Why does it look like a truck ran over the moon?”
The stars are starting to piss me off.
The Universe is wearing me out.
My clouds of clout dwindle with the drought.
Never the less—
Whenever I sneeze—I’m blessed.
I put on my distress and get dressed.
Karma is androgynous!
And God’s bed is a concentration camp.
As I record my life through this broken amp.
‘Cause if it’s not off, it’s not art.
So I’m perfectly off purpose.
And then my daughter said:
“Science never existed, Dad.”
You’re so right, sweetheart, I mustn’t forget….
I live vicariously through the idea that I really exist.
Questions, ideas, lost, people, social science