Red Planet (Variety)

How I dread you and your boring version of authority, how I find you too legible to know, how I left knowing, so I left, I won't go back to the bastard planet/ disturbed planet/ which corresponds to all the damage I did to you and I still can't stand it-- tell me about your children-- how can anything be ironic once you outlive the very justice of your longing, how can anything be the closest song. We're learning our father's music. Giant steps. Huge ass steps. Perfect roots for stepping at the bundle of dread in my heart for you as it turns out becoming this detour or iron lung. Yes, that is scandalous. That all the fantasies are the facts. And the facts' tantrums. That that gives them their dignity. That the queens in your speeches have brute lisps. They say Opus 27 and it thrusts from them like shovels and pretending and chopin's inland empire innocent romance and sex antics. They land in an ecstasy of slim eyes. They run to the tip of every pier with arms outstretched and fetching the wind of no incoming, no, not yet. You kept me waiting. The plan turned various reds and a dream. You're hip to this kind of giving.