I should probably eat better
And quit smoking soon
Money ends up with the debtor
And stocks pop like balloons

I know that I should know better
But what do you know?
Claiming to "know THE creator"?
What an absurd notion...

I really should exercise more
Spend less time online
At least I'm not so immature
To pretend I know what's Divine.

Thieves are the night
But they are not thieves
That is just a dusty title
They take only in your sleep
And they take only what you don't have the strength to discard
In dreams you must shed clean
And rest in your new vulnerable sack
Or you shall insomniate in your kept leavings
You'll go quick mad with trains of ideas
And fast blood
Many perish when they power the buffets
And tightening elements
Instead of serenely observing from within the sway

The thieves are amiable in our sleepy wound
But stray awake
They become fidgeting dead weight in blotted corners
Or perched leaden upon your chest
Playing with different ****** experiments
A knowing one over a fearful child

They are soon to knit together
Your heart condition
Your madness
Or your nervy puppet disposition
And your **** path
To a less restless
And more organic bed

It is here that I must rest my words
And match the horizon upon a mattress
I breeze my mind
And project a welcoming state
To the thieves and the night.

Worship is fingers
Awry offering baskets
And ventures 'morrow.

It was a scam, a sham
The flimmiest of flams
There was more pork there
Than a Christmas ham.
It’s nothing but a racket
Stuff it all into a big packet
And put into a time capture
Leave it until the rapture
Where it can’t hurt anybody
Then, fix yourself a hot toddy
And laugh about how shoddy
Future folks will think we are.

They won’t be wrong by far.
They’ll marvel at how many
Candidates worth a penny,
Or less, showed up to run
Like the whole thing was fun
And better than a TV show.
How could they tumble for
Not that good of a governor
Didn’t know what lips are for
Or what to say on the floor
Yet some wanted her to run?

What fun the press had with
Filling up the internet bandwidth
With screeching permutations
Of tired old KKK reiterations
Of the wonderful Aryan nation
The South advocated before
We had us a big-*** ugly war.
It’s like they didn’t know they lost
And were prepared to pay the cost
To do it all over again, not just men
But women too, who shouldn’t do
Because they were not part of
The government to be started up.

It was rather Alice In Wonderland,
The fuzzy details of their whole plan.
Certain things were carved in stone.
Some should go back to an age of stone
And forever leave the real people alone.
Because they’d shout out now and then
That this world was meant for white men
To run and control and own. Nothing tribal.
They said it was written in their Bible
Which was obvious they never really read
Or they would know what it really said
About helping the poor, the halt and lame.

They went on doing harm in the name
Of the King of Passion and Rescue
Saying that was the wrong thing to do.
They insisted they could do what pleases
And it should have nothing to do with Jesus.
It’s all about who is rich and who is not
And who doesn’t need what they have got:
All the good land and the mineral rights.
The rest can just stay up nights working
Two jobs, maybe three, they didn’t care.
Those pundits had to start somewhere.
Let those dishwashers and caddies
Go get their own filthy rich daddies
To leave them accounts full of millions
So they could hire undocumented millions
To build their dynasties of marble and gold.
Really, folks. This story never gets old.