You used to be funny now you’re just dumb and that’s a muse agreement that’s a jeep and a museum entrance a numb bloom of dental records to prove it was your horsemen dressed in bones and lighthearted vengeance and kept on riding and eating ham from the whistling pockets of cedar dens while your vehicle’s tongue is bitten with splinters and your fingers and compassion forced to insert itself into moments of mutual suffering and lurk and crack you open and taste and ruin the nasty opera of your wishes So now you wanna live now you wanna be loved instead of worshipped now you wanna wear protective styles now you wanna fold your eyes across mine like some minor kaleidoscope and think Ima not swerve or otherwise deliver no mercy now you wanna love me even if it kills you wanna do me like you did white jesus and then pray to me like Ima even cuddle or rustle keys now you want me to teach how to live forever or at least how to dance in a finite expression of something other than regret and you think Ima not swerve It was the end of western thought we had reached its paddled cliff fought our ways back to the restrictions of innocence so our virgin could sit on a toilet and fuck her boyfriend while his wife was at the party looking around like she was lost or had lost something the cross or the crossroads or her Bone Thugs melody that was a hymnal that was a double breasted jacket on Malcolm Little type switch in the pattern of loveless riddlers drifting into car radios and infomercials in tears and handcuffs
