I listen to the whine of time
That goes in a line, a climb,
A silent sign wave; fine
Resonant and resilient,
Nearly sentient, it reminds
Of times of meditation,
Of peaceful celebration
Like music with no beat,
No melody and no lyrics
No clerics can well describe.

Whatever remains of before
I ignore; ideas like yesterday
Which is to say tomorrow,
Bring no sorrow here, no joy.
They are a ploy to change,
To rearrange the apogee
Of this lovely inner symphony
And bribe me with self-pity
In sympathy with some dream
Which once made me scream.

I imbibe in the circumstance,
A chance to muse on forever;
Words like never and regret
I forget and only think of serenity.
A rarity; an affinity with infinity
Entices me to surrender instantly
Serendipitously and trustingly,
Just me and the universe
Chapter and verse, still unwritten,
Unbidden, I surrender.

She was a vegetarian
Cigarette-smoking drunk
Who fell in love easily
With any handsome hunk.
She was a bible-quoting
Daily Zodiac-addicted muse
In dungarees, leather chaps
And covered with tattoos.

Like a character from Monty Python
She always had pentagram earrings on.
And she loudly wondered constantly
Why nobody ever took her seriously.

She looked like a biker mama,
But she never owned a bike.
A personality like barbed wire
She was so very hard to like.
She growled like a take-off
Out of Cape Canaveral.
Why she wasn’t popular she
Could never understand at all.

She had the strangest body parts
Tattooed or heavily pierced
She looked unlike a human being
And she thought that was fierce.

She walked like The Thing
From the Fantastic Four
And I was never sure she knew
What shower was created for.
Her entire vocabulary was
Based on waste matter and ***.
I really do believe she was
The product of an ancient hex.

An inconvenient truth
Can spawn a most convenient lie.
But far too often it seems
The truth will crawl off and die
While the lie lives on
To expand and grow new legs
And covers up the facts
That the fiction sadly begs.

It's a horrible fact today
That people look for excuses
To stay the fools they are
And find more convenient uses
For stories they either made up
Or have come to believe;
Mythological legends
That education can't seem to relieve.

A casual glance through history
Is all we really would ever need
To put the lie to death, but
This kind of fool does not read.
The saddest thing to see is
A bigot has no use for truth
When it makes them give up lies
They have depended on since youth.

But the basic thing in this
Is that someone spoiled this person
And made them into something
A step or two below a decent human
Because every religion has
Words just like the old golden rule.
You wouldn't think that
They could be made into an evil tool.

Our future would be nicer
If he wasn't such a liar
At least could play the role
And be less politician
And less a bad magician
If he only had a soul.

He’s drunk with his power
Which is growing by the hour
He’s really on a roll.
He believes he is king
And we don’t mean a thing
Because he has no soul.

He has voters he can step on
Now we’ve given him a weapon
It was obvious in the polls
So many to ****
Destroying them at will
Like a creature with no soul.

Now his approval is sagging
His supporters are gagging
As they try swallowing him whole.
He’s sure none can top him
And no one can stop him
Because he has no soul.

He won’t be satisfied
’Till all Democrats have died
Or get by shoveling coal.
We’d appeal to his heart
If he had one at the start
And if he only had a soul.

They cry about heaven
Even as they transform skin
Into sin, punishable by death
Or ****, or disfigurement
Sent by the devil for sure
Wearing tonsures and cassocks
Causing their own brand of havoc
Ruled by insensitivity
Because we are the enemy
No longer human, doomed
To suffer the ravages
Of their bad ***** training
And lack of discipline
Over and over again
On playgrounds as kids.

They did it all over again
When in uniform, warmed
By the glow of popular bigotry
Idiocy blessed by some dope,
Some Protestant proto-pope
Who thinks God has time
To engage in crime in his name
So they can blame him instead.
Little else in their head
They steal land, and brand people
Burn people, assault people
And do their best to make them feel
Their god, their way is not real
And is not worth keeping.

Sleeping at night, nobody knows how
Now that they have shown their colors
To their brothers and sisters;
That they will **** mothers and fathers
And babies and the land
And think it just grand
Because they got paid
As they laid waste,
Turned the gardens to paste
Between the toes of evil.
We the boll, they the weevil;
They mashed us under their feet
No thought of being discreet,
We were fodder for their hatriotism.

Not patriotism.
That is impossible
And totally improbable
Once you’ve sold your soul
To Old Nick and his minions,
Hell’s hand-picked denizens
Who look just like your neighbor;
They labor at jobs, like you do
And look a lot like you, too,
Especially if you make excuses
To commit abuses
And blame it on god.
Savor the rod
And abuse the child.
Isn’t hatred wild?
Always on hand.

I fear if I start crying
I will not be able to stop.
I know this is the bottom
(But,) I don’t remember the top.
I’m just feeling sorry
For the self I am now.
I want to change for the better
But I don’t really know how.

I looked into my crystal ball
And didn’t see a thing.
No future, only the past
And it was not a good thing
It wasn’t supposed to be like this
When I started on this highway.
It hurts my feeling to know that
It’s because I did things my way.

I’m just feeling sorry
For the self I am now.
I want to change for the better
But I don’t really know how.

I have no one else to blame but me
For the decisions I have made.
If I had to score success so far
I’d give myself a failing grade.
If I could just convince myself
To do something I’d be fine.
But so far all I have managed to do
Is sit around the place and whine.

I fear if I start crying
I will not be able to stop.
I know this is the bottom
(But,) I don’t remember the top.
I’m just feeling sorry
For the self I am now.
I want to change for the better
But I don’t really know how.

You rejected your children
Like they were not real men
Like they never had been
Born.
You were seldom with them
Dispatched so little wisdom
But yet plenty of criticism
And scorn.

It’s ten o’clock
Do you know
Where your children are?
Could you find them
By eleven o’clock
Even if you got into your car?

Your life was more important
Than any of your descendants
So they suffered the sentence
Of neglect.
They had to grow on their own
Because they were so alone
In a parental twilight zone,
No respect.

It’s ten o’clock
Do you know
Who your children are?
Did your parenting
Hurt them enough
To leave permanent scars?

Your partying mattered more.
What else is a person’s life for?
And nobody is keeping score
But the kid.
And if anyone should happen by
You can always makeup a lie
Just let them be fool enough to try
What we did.

It’s ten o’clock
Do you know
Where your children are?
Could you find them
By eleven o’clock
Even if you got into your car?

Thousands of years ago,
The loving god did decree
A vengeful statement that
Still affects you and me.
He told the loyal Israelis
In the Israel at that time
To go to their neighbors
And commit a huge crime.

It was couched in words
Of an eye for an eye
And lives in infamy
As the millennia go by.
This beloved god by decree
Ordered a massive genocide
Without a future thought or
Concern for those who died.

“**** all of them, even infants!”
That’s what they say he said
And even up until today
There are mounting dead.
A peek back at history
We watch the bodies burn
And know for certain
They have never learned.

The scariest part of all is
That these were all denizens
Of a timeless middle-eastern war
Now a cause by US citizens.
They have fought and murdered
For thousands of years on end.
So, why do we join in and fight
And send our beloved children?

Can’t we just agree on a course
To wash our nation’s hands of it
And recognize this madness
As a political bottomless pit?
It has never been righteous
Or easy to understand
How this war goes on over
This one small patch of land,
Fueled by religious hypocrisy
Written in a year that is labeled BCE?

Irregardless, years ago
I had double pneumonia,
But, like, you know,
It is what it is, and like
I dunno, kinda like
It takes what it takes
Know what I mean?
It’s prolly a mute point
But I turned three sixty.
You know? I mean
I’m kinda like, I dunno.

It is what it is, like
I mean, whatever.
It’s all good, isn’t it?
You get what you need
And it ain’t no thing.
I mean, go big or go home.
Try to stay in the zone,
You know. I dunno.
No biggie, though.
Keep a cool tool
And don’t be a big fool.
Know what I mean?

It’s like I was saying
Don’t give up praying
Because God does not
Create garbage, you know.
He didn’t bring you
This far to dump you.
I dunno. I’m in for
The whole game.
It’s all the same.
You know, way to go.
Give it a chance.
Get up and dance.

Know what I’m saying?
I ain’t playing with you.
It like, you know,
I’m so sure, dontcha know?
Way to go. I don’t know.
It’s like, I’m so sure.
Whatevs, whatevs!
It’s so dope, sick, cool.
There must be
Some kinda rule.
I dunno, it’s like, you know,
It’s the way to go.
Give is your best shot.
It’s the bomb, the ****,
It’s totally hot.
Maybe I am hot too,
But you know, I dunno.

I’m having a hippy drippy day
A great day to snuggle up inside
A drizzling rain and skies are gray.
I’ll call some friends to come and play.
I’ll cook up some muffins and popcorn
And chill off a gallon of cheap jug wine
Get out my guitar and my old ukulele
This day is going to work out just fine.

Rotten Ray and Pity Patty will come
The first to arrive as they always are.
Cokehead Bobby will ride with them
Because he never has a working car.
Dan will bring his Alice B. brownies
And whatever squeeze he has today.
Eldon Day will come since Dan’s here
As usual pretending he is not gay.

The music will start in right away
Four or five guitars and bongo drums.
There may be more instruments later
It depends on if Dial-A-Party comes.
While that is not a professional company,
It’s what we call it when we all meet
One calls another and soon we see
Small groups of people on the street.

Especially on rainy days, it turns out
We all love this kind of gathering
Depending on who is off that day
And how big a storm we’re weathering.
But joy and music is the rule of the day.
We laugh and get ****** and sing,
Some drizzily hippy drippy happy fun;
A gathering of close friends means everything.

Come and let me tell you
Tales of distant wizards
In far off foreign lands.
The speak in words of poetry
And magic incantations
Even they don’t understand.

They tell of arcane stories
Of dragons and the caves
Of gemstones where they hid.
They tell of verve and derring-do
And swashbuckling heroism
In legendary acts they never did.

They chant, these ancient shamans
To deities and gods of ancient name
Who they know well are fakers.
They foretell and portend wonders
And riches for those who rule, and
Call themselves movers and shakers.

These magic-minded soothsayers
Drape themselves in auras of mystery
And tell the believers they can heal.
And if the congregation fails to look
Closely enough at their performances
They believe the mythological is real.

And time can coat the stores in paint
That looks like the patina of the ages
So it passes the inspection of he willing.
No true believer looks for cracks
In the walls around the real facts
Or questions the truth they are killing.

THE GARDEN OF ACCEPTANCE

Shadows are my friends these days.
Nobody can see me crying in the dark.
While the others lie around in the sun
I seek out somber arbors in the park.
The muted light of leaves and limbs
Caress the aches within my heart
And whisper to me to just relax
And let the healing grieving start.

Sometimes I hear some music there
Playing so softly in my inner soul.
I hope to find the inner strength
To think I might someday be whole
Instead of this half a person here
Who doesn’t even notice a sunrise
That spends its multicolor glory
Like a painted cathedral for my eyes.

If people pass and I notice them
They don’t serve to make me sad
Seeing them so happy together
Being contented or even a bit glad,
Because I am here in this serenity
I include them in my private reverie.
The message that life goes on does
Brings restful meditation to me.

But, mostly it’s the natural things;
The birds and the variegated leaves,
The flowers, and cool green lawns
That soothe, and comfort and please.
They slowly help me to realize
That the world in not all about me.
We have to let our sadness fall behind
To truly understand how to be free.

Brent Kincaid
4/3/2015

Just like everybody else
I was learning for myself
Just what would make me sick
And how the whole world ticks.
Then I quickly ran into collusion
Left me in a state of confusion.
I learned about rationalization
And self-righteous indignation
From purveyors of hypocrisy
Passed off as great philosophy
That labeled some as dross,
Not fit to be the lowest boss.
I watched people get locked out
And ignored when they shouted
The bosses talking about degrees
Driving workers to their knees
Because they couldn’t afford
College room and board
For the four years of beer bashes
And drunken month-long crashes
In Mexican towns full of them
That could go there on a whim
While the children of the working class
Worked hard so their kids could pass
And have a chance to get ahead
Instead of a shoveling until dead.

I was learning this first-hand
That not all of life was grand
If you could not afford to buy.
And banks just passed you by
When you needed a car
Because work was so far
From where you had to stay
In the neighborhoods far away
From the nice neat places
And squeaky clean faces
Of those who inherited wealth
Or were sent to schools
That sent out the fools
That knew how to look nice.
And nobody thought twice
When they weren’t quite as bright
As the people that had to fight
For an opening, then trained
So the rich kid could maintain
In a job he didn’t qualify for
But he had the SAT score
To prove he was intelligent
And had the proper quotient
Whether he could deliver or not.
The rest was all just rot.
And nobody paid attention
Nor would they mention
The kid was a well-trained fool
And what he learned in class
Was how to look good and pass
For a person smarter than
The average working man.
That’s what I learned first-hand
And what I came to understand.

What are you,
All you foolish humans
That **** each other
Everywhere, every year?
What good is it,
All your mad efforts
That you live and die
To generate hopeless fear?

What have you done
All you foolish humans
That live by rules
But not by laws for peace?
Where is the pride
In what you create
In all your short, sad lives
If the genocide will never cease?

What of the children
Insane selfish humans
That go to sleep
Perhaps never to wake again?
Who in the world
Which of our fellow humans
Can we put our trust upon
If it is not the most powerful men?

What is learned
With your **** and pillage.
Are you much better
Counting up your evil rewards?
Now you have murdered
Robbed and imprisoned
All those who live by the plow
Laughed at by those with swords.

We are the fools
If we think might is right,
That strength is shown
By money in the pocketbook.
We only need to
To take a simple body count;
To slow our greedy rush, and
Take the time to take a second look.

They badgered me, berated me.
They beat me and they hated me.
They seemed to want me to die
Too soon, then, so did I.

I was different, and that was the reason.
Too many saw that as a form of treason.

I had to adhere to the boundaries
That were set for us artificially
They had no reference to reality;
More to some kind of elite tyranny.

And, I still find it horribly strange
That very little has changed.
The rules are still very much
Incredibly socially out of touch.

Strive to be elite or be beaten
And ultimately, almost literally eaten
By the swarm of mindless fools
That go on defending the rules  

That allow children to be thugs
And, come to school to sell drugs;
That let the criminals escape
And, turn a blind eye to ****
And abuse and battering
But keep the ******* clattering
At PTA, school board and council meetings  
More concerned with politics
Than the real-time subjects
Such as kids afraid of attending
Because the battlefield is never ending.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

The other guys were different
And that made them negligent
And earned them the fate
Of a premature exit date.
They will always suffer defeat
That are not of the prime elite.
Killing such a strange enemy
Should garner no sympathy.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

The children are taught
From the first days of school.
We are the good guys
And that’s the important rule.
Bear that in mind, kiddies
Because it will always be true.
We are the champions here
No matter what we do.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

Children with sticks for guns
Learn to play their games.
They get shot, but don’t fall.
They know just who to blame.
You missed me, they call
Until the bullets are for real.
Then, they learn to question
What they were taught to feel.

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

That’s what all war is for
To make sure none are alive
To fight the glorious holy war.
So none manage to survive.
With overwhelming enmity,
Some faced down opposition
By obliterating the enemy
And earned their commission

War, war and much more.
It’s good for the economy.
War, war. Even the score.
Reduce the rank of the enemy.

I’m dreaming of a White Christmas
With not one foreigner you know;
Where the people speaking
Like good Americans
The rest should get on planes and go.

The best Christmas is a Lily White One.
With stuff that Jesus understood;
Like Santa’s reindeers
And trees with tinsel
And toys not one made of wood.

I’m screaming for a White Christmas
So shove that crap that Christ’s a Jew!
Go and burn in hellfire with you!
And my best Christmas wish comes true.

Veronica LaMonica
Played the harmonica
In our local high school band.
She collected japonica
She says it is a tonic
Attuned to a young lady’s hand.
She swears she is not picky
But avoids the ricky-ticky
And goes instead for the class.
She claims not to be picky
But avoids like a big hickey
Anything of plastic or brass.

Veronica LaMonica
Played the harmonica
In our local high school band.
She collected japonica
She says it is a tonic
Attuned to a young lady’s hand.

Veronica is the prettiest
Down to the nitty grittiest
Girl in the local school we both attend.
She’s not always wittiest
Rather hit and messiest,
But I’m glad at least she is my friend.
I’d like her to be more
That’s what this rhyme if for
To tell her she’s the best in the world.
She ’s the very highest floor,
The one have always adored,
She’s most artistically talented girl.

Veronica LaMonica
Played the harmonica
In our local high school band.
She collected japonica
She says it is a tonic
Attuned to a young lady’s hand.

“Boys will be boys,”
The bully’s parents said.
All that talk of discipline
Went over their heads.

The older boys at school
Gathered around the kid
With the glasses on his face;
Knocked them off his head.
Their words questioning
His manhood and his folks
And nobody paid attention
To the nature of the jokes.

“Boys will be boys,”
The principal said.
He washed his hands
Now one boy is dead.

They waited in an alley
Until the boy walked by
A place they knew for sure
No one would hear him cry.
They each one ***** him
Then one guy had a knife
After he killed the boy
He called him a lousy wife.

“Boys will be boys,”
The police officer said
Then used his baton
On the black kid’s head.

A black kid found the body
Of the white kid in the mud.
He brought the local cop, who
Thought him from the hood.
He beat up on the black kid
And took him to the jail.
Nobody knew about him, so
Nobody made his bail.


“Boys will be boys,”
The juvenile judge said
He closed the case
Went golfing instead.

There were no forensics,
No witnesses were sought.
No evidence of quality
Was asked for or brought.
The system had its criminal
And quickly put him away
And that’s where he is living
Until this very day.

“Boys will be boys,”
Never really worked
It only ever pointed out
That the speaker was a ****.

Bell bottom hip huggers
And my Frankenstein shoes
That had stack soles and heels
That I could only barely use.
A crop-top sleeveless tee shirt
With a superman emblem on it
And diamond ring on my hand.
In case I might have to pawn it.

Because we were picketing
Downtown at the City Hall
And at some police stations.
It was the seventies after all.
Our parents raised us to acquiesce
It was their America they protected.
And it was just exactly this blindness
That we, en masse, all rejected.

We failed to understand them
The generations that came before
That prized prejudice and bias
And celebrated sending us to war.
We felt there was another way
To go about sweeping social change.
We saw beating and fire hosing
As nefarious and more than strange.

We got beaten ourselves and jailed
For just pointing injustice out to them
And watched our sit-ins and love-ins
Turned into scenes of ****** mayhem.
We heard them call us all criminals,
Long haired ******* was a favored taunt.
It seems we were entitled to our opinions
As long as we didn’t chose to flaunt.

It felt so very much like **** Germany
Including storm troopers and jack boots
And the local politicians were obviously
At least agreeing if not in cahoots
With the police in their fear of rebellion
And protecting their good paying jobs.
So, they beat us and vilified the students
Calling them ***** communists, and slobs.

And, yes, some of us were getting high
Back in our homes and apartments.
Sometimes it seemed the only way
We could deal with the estrangement
Between what our country said it was
And what it turned out it really was.
It was hard to realize our land wasn’t free
And there was no social Santa Claus.

You would think
A fool who always lies
Would finally surmise
He is known to be unwise
In most other people’s eyes.

You would think
A snake in the grass
Would not have an ***
But it comes to pass
That some are all ***.

You would think
A pile of dog manure
Would smell himself for sure
And that would insure
To show that he's not pure.

You would think
A **** so full of hate
Would not aspire to be great
And instead would wait
Until humility reached his gate.

You would think
Being socially quite blind
No ability to be quite kind
Would someday soften the rind
Of almost any creep you’d find.

You would think
With so many tramps around
And unfunny political clowns
Someone would knock him down;
Teach him something on the ground.

You would think
Some lesson would be due
To give this reprobate a clue
And help him know what to do,
But that might never come true.

I want to write a poem
So others will hear
The music in here,
In my heart and soul
So it plays a strong role
Helps people reach a goal
In putting aside hate
Before it's too late
And we despoil the soil
And ruin our own world
So that boys and girls
No longer can play
But must scrabble away
Their childhood in clay,
Hands filthy in poverty.
Let that poet be me.

I want to write a poem
With words so ringingly clear
That anyone who hears
Knows that I hold dear
The idea of equallity
That all can exist happily
Loving one another
Like sisters and brothers
Living together fruitfully
Truthfully, dutifully,
Sharing their destiny
And a rewarding future
That has no measure
Beause it is pure pleasure
And because it is bountiful,
It is completely  beautiful.

Payday to payday
Is there any other way?
I’d call out a mayday
But what would I say?
I’ll pay it back someday?
But there is no way.
The outlook is gray.
Nothing saved for a rainy day.

Coins jingling in the pocket
Paper money makes no sound.
The coins are pennies and a dime
That I just found on the ground.
Some days my nest-egg can
Be counted as just a few cents.
I have grown used to living without
Much of a sense of recompense.

Payday to payday
Is there any other way?
I’d call out a mayday
But what would I say?
I’ll pay it back someday?
But there is no way.
The outlook is gray.
Nothing saved for a rainy day.

Nothing like any kind of income
About which I can easily brag.
No shiny stuff, never any bling.
No limo, no Rolex, no swag.
Though I did once dream of
Living in a ritzy sprawling place,
That kind of daydreaming is
For someone who won the race.

Payday to payday
Is there any other way?
I’d call out a mayday
But what would I say?
I’ll pay it back someday?
But there is no way.
The outlook is gray.
Nothing saved for a rainy day.

It’s often called The Rat Race
But I have a problem with that.
I saw a whole lot of fat cats
But I never saw even one rat.
I think it’s better to call them
What they actually happen to be.
They’re hard workers, underpaid.
They’re the working class, they’re me.

I got off the bus
At Eighteenth and Vine
Everything in the window
I wanted to be mine
Beautiful shirts there,
Suits, shoes and hats.
But I couldn’t buy them
No, I couldn’t do that.

I was the wrong color
For Matlaw’s, He said.
That place was for coloreds
And rich pimps instead
Not a tow-headed white boy
What hasn’t got much sense.
I went there that one time
And, I haven’t been since.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.

The bus went by there
Every day I passed it by.
To this day, I grieve
And never understood why
A Caucasian market
Like I represented
Might go there inside there
And be soundly resented.

It wasn’t a good thing
It’s just how it was then
Before the civil rights thing
Would finally begin.
Yes, I never knew colors
They way others did.
But, what did I know?
I was just a young kid.

But, oh I wanted that suit,
With cranberry hat and shoes.
Even though I had no place
To ever wear it, I knew.
But, I love that store there
On eighteenth and Vine
Even though I knew nothing
In that store could be mine.

The solution to pollution
Is to cease affluent effluent.
In other words make the rich
Live in their ecological excrement.
Force them to drink only from
Their permanently poisoned pipes
And turn a deaf ear, as they did
To any of their constituent’s gripes.

The enemies of the anemones
Fought their way to the deep
To censure and make sure
The sea creatures had no sleep.
It seems the corporations
Don’t realize what they’re doing.
If we **** off the plankton, then
We’re headed for planetary ruin.

It was bad enough when someone,
Without telling us, sold our land
And then they chopped down trees
For a reason anyone can understand;
Greed. That was the proper word.
They wanted more money in the bank.
So when the land erodes and dies
We’ll have the corporations to thank.

They cover up their eco-crimes
By declaring illegal military forays
And pretend they are taking us back
To those good old, happier days.
But in between bombing villages
It can always plainly be seen
That we and our country are
Slowly being picked totally clean.

And when we object, cry out loud
That something is wrong with all this;
They start to call us unpatriotic,
Call us who starve are the neurotics.
So, don’t listen to their lying rhetoric,
Instead look at what they are doing.
The sonsabitches are Macbeth’s witches,
And they have a lot of poison brewing.

We are suffering today
From a disease called hypocrisy.
And it is the basest enemy
Of freedom in democracy.
It substitutes a dollar amount
For lives and souls and hope
And tantalizes the population
With TV, ***** and dope.

By the time the population
Wakes up and catches on
A new batch of crooks exist
The old got rich, moved on.
Every campaign promise
They will fail to deliver.
They will lie to your face
And sell you down the river.

Our women are widows
Our children are orphans
The churches want money
For larger pipe organs.
They wring their hands
Subject abortion to scorn
But, abandon them to penury
As soon as they are born.

They say they want nobody
To receive free ride Medicare
Then freely give corporations
Un-needed trillions in welfare.
The chant against big government
Is a perennial marching tune.
They’ll decide the kind of ***,
And have control over wombs,

The world is a place today
Where the dollar comes first
And the children of the poor
Are usually treated the worst.
We are suffering today
From a disease called hypocrisy.
And it is the basest enemy
Of freedom in democracy.

Ziggy was named
By his rock and roll dad
His Mama ran off right away.
Ziggy grew up
Almost on his own
Dad didn’t care what he’d say.
A lady next door
Took pity on Zig and his dad
And sometimes cooked them a meal.
All Ziggy knew
Was this was home life
The stuff on TV wasn’t real.

Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.

Ziggy, don’t run around with those girls
They aren’t a good kind of crowd
They only want you for money and drugs
They’re ****** and awfully loud.
Ziggy don’t go play cards with those guys
They’ll take you for all that you’ve got.
I know you think they are all your good friends.
But, I assure you they’re not.

Ziggy, the world can get to be big
Well before you can cope.
There are uncaring people all over the place
Ready with sweet words and dope.
Ziggy, the people who only like you
When you are not flat broke
Those kinds aren’t worth your concern
Not worth a dime from your poke.

Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.

It’s the most bountiful time of the year.
All retailers are crowing
The profits are growing
They smile ear-to-ear
It’s their greatest time of the year.

We people are hocking,
To stuff our kids stockings,
Wth jewels we bought all year long.
We want to make sure
That we can insure
We don’t take a parental step wrong.

It’s the bankruptingest time of the  year.
No one quite gives a ****
That the whole things a scam
To sell clothing and beer
We go further in debt every year.

We’ll fight to pay rent
Nearly thirty percent
Goes to pay all the interest off.
We take extra jobs
Like all working slobs
All year we don’t dare get a cough.

It’s the most co-dependent of times.
It’s all about image
And holiday scrimmage
As if we’re not a victim of crime.
And pretending we saved one little dime.

Having him near and not touching
Was decidedly tough.
In the end I realized that loving him
Was just not enough.
He liked making love and exploring
The bodies we had
But not enough to fall in love with me
And that was sad.

I knew this heart-pounding affair was
Just for a few days.
And while I was falling very hard, he
Would son walk away.
He mumbled something one time
About being a free spirit
But in those moments I didn’t know
What to do with it.

It was not information I could take
And put someplace real.
It was a kind of romantic connection
That I could not feel.
It didn’t fit with the movies and books
And the fairy tales.
It didn’t end with a swell of music.
It ended with sad wails.

It made no sense at all to me then
How anyone could be
A totally involved ****** machine
And act so shallowly.
How can someone throw themselves
Into such wild action
And have it not mean more than just
Physical satisfaction?

He was the first, there were more.
This kind of guy shines,
And knows how to attract the fools
With attitudes like mine;
People who persuade themselves
To proceed blindly
When these one-night lotharios
Treat lovers unkindly.

Of course, it was not love, I know,
Not even for me.
It was just something called lust
That captivated me.
A gorgeous body and talented talk
Easily woos youth
With so much seduction I would not
Look hard for the truth.

Be what you are!
Be a moving picture star
if you want to take it that far.
Drive a huge fancy foreign car.
Or write a great book
All about the chances you took.
Sit beside a picturesque brook
And immortalize how the trees shook.

Go on and tell!
Say who you are as well.
Don’t wait for the final bell
You won’t get to hear the knell.
Chose the right words.
Set them and you free as a bird.
Make people know what they heard.
Create awe with what has occurred.

Maybe you can paint.
And let people see what ain’t
Or the halo of a beloved saint.
Maybe just to trigger critical complaint.
Or maybe you carve things
Complicated stuff like angel wings.
Carve so you feel the joy that it brings;
To stir the inner soul with wonderings.

Be what you are.
Even if people stare at a scar
Or run away as fast and as far.
Those shallow folk will end up in a bar.
Or maybe you stammer
When something makes you stutter
And people laugh at every word you utter.
What you are made of is so much better.

I’m not quite right today.
I’ve a thoroughly gasted flabber.
The milk of human kindness
Seems to have begun to clabber.
I got plussed but now it’s minus,
I’m so chalant I am nearly flat.
I am almost as spaced out
As a modern day Schrodinger’s cat.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

I was once a pillar of immunity
But lately I am wagging a scally.
But somewhere along the line
I became a cat in some alley.
I‘m at five sixes and sevens
I lost the war and the battle.
My creek is totally full of ****.
Here I am without a paddle.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

My last leg hurts a lot, and
My pooch is rather *******.
I’d say I am a bit ******,
But then, that would be lewd.
I’m a scant one barrel short
Of being a real son of a gun.
My **** has started whiffing
And is no longer much fun.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

I don’t like wearing clothing
Unless there is a need to do so.
The minute nobody objects
The garment wearing has to go.
It’s not about being naughty
It’s about comfort and being free.
I really don’t care much if I am
Making other squirm uncomfortably.

You see, since this is America
And I am pursuing my happiness
I really shouldn’t have to put up
With people’s prudish snappiness.
Yes, I know that we were raised
To believe genitals are disgusting.
But that is wrong and the first rule
That I am here to aid in busting.

Okay, I grant that some of us
Are not all that pretty when ****.
But that doesn’t give anybody
A license to be so **** rude.
Can’t you just pretend she is
Wearing a less than pretty dress?
Wouldn’t you be polite to her then?
Come on. Own up to it. Confess!

It all has to do with parenting
And living by society’s dictates.
This is where bigotry comes from;
Name calling, bullying and hate.
Different people have different beliefs;
A different set of ears, eyes and nose.
And different people have other ideas
About what and when to wear clothes.

There are ladies on the internet
Who are offering me joy.
They say they can transform me
To a man instead of a boy.
Another guy has promised me
A massive ***** size.
I’m not sure I am comfortable
To that talk from a guy.

Another woman from Nigeria
Said her husband has died
With a bank account chock full
Of Krugerands inside.
All they want from me they say
Is a check for one grand
And they will put half of the gold
Into my greedy hand.

Now, that and the ***** ladies
They say live near my place
Are part of what the internet
Pushes daily into my face.
But I have become smarter now
And I fully understand
That buxom comely lass is really
A fifty five year-old man.

Bill Gates will not be sending me
A lifetime Disney Park pass.
And there are no fifty dollar diamonds,
They are all made of glass.
There is no secret bank account
In Nigeria, I truly feel.
But that pill that makes my ***** grow?
Now that, I am sure, is real.

Sorry, dude. I must admit
I find it more than pathetic
That you experience life
With sorrow about some of it
That you don’t have a drug
To take to help appreciate
Something that is amazing
And really needs no chemical
To help you exaggerate
What is really going on
And pretend it is better
Or somehow transcendent
As if water can be wetter.

But it is as if time warped
And I have gone backward
To talk to myself about it
And then zapped forward
To see what a saturate
What a wet-brained fool
I was back then, it’s true.
I was a tin-plated tool.
I measured my existence
One dime bag at a time
Giggling with stoner friends
About my forays into crime;
Selling backs of skunk ****
When nobody else had any
Good stuff or bad stuff.
And I was the one with plenty.

Walking through Hollywood
With stoner friends and flakes
Singing as we stumbled along
About life and what it takes
To satisfy *** hounds those days.
***, drugs and rock and roll
And pride in our half-witted ways.
Learning how to roll pinners
Of a buddy’s stash on the sly
While he was taking a whizz
And couldn’t ask me why.
Learning how to properly treat
The remaining sticks and stones
And confiscating the roaches
When the others left them alone.

That was the cannabis coalition
The Sativa Society at its height.
We worked in the daytime and
Got ******* most every night.
And sooner or later, on the job
In the bathroom or on the roof.
I didn’t think of it addiction.
I still needed further proof.
I needed to try to buy ****
From a government man I met.
Fortunately I bailed on that
Before adding one more big regret.
Life has gotten better since then
No more outside dependence.
I quit before the drugs became
The entire focus of my existence.

Waddley bimbely
Nothing is new.
Sometimes I don’t know
What I should do.
Walkily talkily
Human kazoo.
I have learned better
Than trusting in you.

Whiffily sniffley
Embezzle and lie
Authority snority
Let it go by.
Cheatum and beatum
If they complain
Skim from the top
Buy a new plane.

Hoppity boppity
Games of chance
Always let poor people
Pay for the dance.
Scrappity snappity
Selling their wares
***** about usury
Nobody dares.

Slippity slidery
Constant rendition.
Use public money
To buy politicians.
Graftery crafters
Buy media too.
Make some more billions
To see their way through.

Yesterday is much clearer
As the future is drawing nearer.
The histories we have rehearsed
Over time have become reversed.
It should make us very sad;
What was good has become bad.

The bad guys were the Indians
And the good guys Caucasians
And they were always right
Because they were always white.
The Red Man was a villain
Because he was an Indian;
And that was never corrected.
The name an invader selected.

These were people born here
Defending land they held dear
Because they had hunted
And were never really wanted.
The invaders called them savage
Their women okay to ravage
Because they didn’t have Jehovah
To issue them a binding mitzvah.

There were so few invaders
So at first they were persuaders.
But after putting out some feelers
They chose to become stealers.
They declared the natives sinners
And thus became the winners.
The natives hadn’t learned to read
So the invaders ignored all their needs.

The invaders were prepared to fight
To deny the natives their rights
So, the invaders created paper laws
Thus natives couldn’t tell what they saw.
Suddenly the noble savage was a crook.
The invaders gloated over what they took;
Stole native’s possessions from their hands
And declared it all as the invader’s land.

This is the Danes and Angles back when
And the story happened all over again.
But once the battle victory is scored
The native’s birthright is not restored.
The invaders cover up the tragedies
With inaccurate tales and call them history.

Not a lot has changed inside
From who I used to be.
I’ve gained wrinkles and gray hair
But that’s just humanity.
It doesn’t change the facts at all;
I am still who I always was.
It’s the packaging that changes
And that has a reasonable cause.

When I forget something
Folks call me old and senile
But, the fact is that I have
Been doing that for quite a while.
Ever since I was a kid
As a matter of pure fact.
So, don’t mislabel something
That is not an aging fact.

And when I groan a bit
When rising from my chair
It’s a bad habit I learned
Long ago, some bad where.
It is laziness and whining
And that’s the pure truth.
It has nothing to do with
My distance from youth.

When my eyes get misty
At something I may see
It’s not that old age has
Has totally overtaken me.
It’s because I’ve been around
For enough of these years
To recognize the feelings
That go on behind tears.

So tip your hat to me, my friends
And you surely won’t go wrong.
There is a bit of credit due
For sticking around this long.
It has given me some vision
Due to plenty of hindsight,
To make better decisions now
And to make most of them right.

I am the oldest kid so
Stop playing with that baby.
I want you to myself.
It’s all about me.

The other kids at school
A behaving so horribly
They don’t understand
It’s all about me.

I am so sorry you have
Fallen so hard for me.
But I have to be moving on.
It’s all about me.

I’m going to quit my job
Because it’s boring me.
So many creeps there.
It’s all about me.

I’m running for office
And it’s going swimmingly
After all, in this job
It’s all about me.

I don’t have to specify
Or make promises readily.
I just smile and tell lies.
It’s all about me.

My kids are obnoxious
They need attention constantly.
Don’t they understand?
It’s all about me.

My life would be better
If people behaved sensibly.
After all, the reality is
It’s all about me.
It’s all about me.
It’s all about me.

While not everybody naps
Simply everybody craps.
If you don’t you’re a goner
I swear by my honor
There’s no substitute for it
So just get used to it.
It’s like boogers, you see
It’s not talked of openly.

The public has an allergy
Of what can be said honestly.
You can admit to burping
But must do so excusing
As if you had taken a dump
Instead of expelling a lump
Of non-poisonous gas.
Society is a ***.

And while we’re at it
We live in a world here
Where ******* are reshaped
And formed by a brassiere
But no crotch bulges for men
Especially not big shaped ones.
As I have already implied
Society is a mean son-of-a-gun.

Breastfeeding an infant is
Seen as some kind of ****
But under-aged girls in bikinis?
That is why men were born.
They were put on earth to see
And love nature and its gifts.
But women in public should
Not show uncovered ****.

Just remember this and
You will do very well.
Being natural is for sure
The best way to go to hell.
You must always look to
The bluenosed of society
To shape your fine sense
Of decency and propriety.

A natural person, as God made
Is surely just the Devil’s work.
Because the Devil is more
Important that that God ****.
God and Santa make lists
And punish us by and bye
But Satan does it right now
And then spits in your eye.

So, be the proper citizen
And don’t do what is natural.
Following on nature’s bent
Will do you no good at all.
Even though the Bible won’t
Agree to this simple plan
Just look around you to learn
What is in society’s plan.

Today is my birthday
And I don’t have to do a thing.
Not if I don’t want to
I can go on lying around loafing.
I can get up way late
And go to bed as late as I want.
I can watch cool movies
And I have birthday cards to flaunt.

I can have ice cream
And copious amounts of cake.
I can eat like a pig
Until there is no more I can take.
I can sit in BVDs
Or less if I so decided to do.
It feels so good to me
I may take off another day or two.

It means I am older
But it all feels the same to me.
I will change the number
But I don’t feel any differently.
I still like chocolate
And chicken fried and breaded right,
And good sci-fi movies;
Maybe two or three each night.

So sing me the song
And I will blow out the candles.
I’m ready for the party
And all the fun we can handle.
It’s not about presents
It’s all about the celebration
And one more year
In joyous, grateful continuation.

It seems I’ve always been dyslexic
But, I really didn’t know.
I just discovered this about myself
About a year ago.
It was a matter of some bedevilment
To deal with left and right
Up and down, on and off, and more
Excepting day and night.

Opposites like yes or no, black or white,
Were never easy or fun.
Then the days of computers came along
With their trials of zero and one.
It’s a basic lack of understanding things
At a minimal kind of level.
It always seemed I was forever lost
Between the sea and the devil.

I began to realize how deep the effect
Ran within my learning curve.
It was more than just a simple matter
Of which way I would swerve
When riding a bike or driving a car;
I could never drive in Kent.
I would invariably choose the wrong way
When the road was forked or bent.

I don’t take any of this in any light way,
It helps me to understand
Having problems in my studies long ago,
To piece together strand by strand
The insults and the teasing I underwent
When I made the wrong choices.
I can now put to rest my sense of doubt
That stems from chiding voices.

It was such a subtle thing, and back then,
In the methods of long ago,
The parents and the teachers muddled on
Because they really didn’t know
That many of us were not ignoramuses
We just had an uphill fight
We had a dilemma in equal opposites
Like in and out or left and right.

We should throw a party and then
Dump a Trump
Give Trump lumps
Make him jump.
Drag him over the same kind of bumps
He dragged us and laughed at us.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

We should get together and just
Dump a Trump
Oust that schlump
To the city dump.
Treat him like he treated those before
And send him home on a city bus.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

Let's call a convention and
Dump a Trump!
He’s a festering clump
As dim as Forest Gump.
New Yorkers call him a stupid ****.
We hope all see that he is finally busted
That his former shine is obviously rusted.

Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump!
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****!

How do you sleep at night?
Why aren’t you ashamed
After all your ***** tricks
And you lying cheating games?
Something is wrong with you
That you have no remorse.
Sin and crime call out to you
And you respond “Of course!”

Were you that kind of kid
That cheated playing of cards?
Did you find not copying
From other students hard?
And presents wrapped at holidays
Did you always have to peek?
Do shortcuts to being rich
Describe the path you seek?

Does the end always end
By justifying means?
Do you steal if and when
The act is never seen?
Is there nothing wrong
With living a life of lies?
Does the drive to win
Let you ***** the other guys?

Is there no basis inside
That thing you call your soul
That could be called decency
That governs your goals?
Or are you that kind of thing
Our parents warned us of;
A creature devoid of kindness
Compassion, and love?

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

It’s not enough for you
To have gold water faucets,
Crystal mirrors everywhere
And marble floors in closets
Now you want to play at
Being a savvy politician
Stands for Christian principles
From the *******.

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.

With a changing cast of women
You call your lawful wives.
And you’re the one who wants
To control our very lives?
You utter your vituperation
At poor and the non-Christian.
Is having the world hate you
Part of your final mission?

If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

You also want control of
Our country’s financial hopes.
If we fall for that stupid tale
Then we are a nation of dopes
Because you have bankrupted
More than the Monopoly game
Would allow a toddler to have
And that is quite a shame.

Omigod, Donald T. ****,
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.

No, Mr. T **** please do
What is proper and fitting;
Call up the press and say
That you are finally quitting.
Tell them you were just testing
To see what the others would do.
So, kiss our collective ***** goodbye
And take with you that dumb hairdo.

Go outside after breakfast
Come back for lunch at noon.
Come inside at suppertime
And even then, it was too soon.
Never permitted to be late
We ate dinner at six each day
Eat every bite on our plate.
About the menu we had no say.

We had baking soda submarines
Popular Mechanics magazines
And that was technology back then.
Decoder rings and roller skate keys
Shooting marbles on our knees
And playing crooks and G-men.

Those days we had three channels
On all black and white televisions.
Just the same thirteen inch boxes;
Nothing like 3D or Panavision.
Loved Uncle Miltie and Lucille Ball
And considered Korla Pandit a waste,
But we must be forgiven because
Back then, no one had much taste.

We could spell Kula, Fran and Ollie,
Said words like “gosh”, and “by golly”
And were anxious to see flying cars.
Many movies were in Technicolor
But you always had to take your brother
And he didn’t recognize the stars.

After school we played sandlot ball
Saturday were TV cartoon shows;
Dancing trees with belly buttons
And a local clown with a red nose.
We joined Cubs and Boy Scouts
Had lemonade stands by the street,
Matchbooks in bicycle stokes
And used bottle cap taps for our feet.

It seemed like days were longer then
And summer was slow to come again.
Those were the days when we had fun.
We built our forts and hooked up swings
Kids did all crazy kinds of things
Before these modern times had begun.

Olio and so it goes
Sing a song of gladness
Olio and so it goes
Give silence to your sadness.

I went into my childhood;
A journey back in time.
I talked with a man of minutes
And he spoke to me in rhyme.

(singing)
Olio and so it goes
Sing a song of gladness
Olio and so it goes
Give silence to your sadness.

I climbed to the top of the tower of hope
And danced with a light fantastic.
Spent the night with a harbored grudge
Whose morals were elastic.

(singing)
Olio and so it goes
Sing a song of gladness
Olio and so it goes
Give silence to your sadness.

Found some strength and courage seeds
Dropped on barren land.
Got back yesterday full grown,
My future in my hand.

(singing)
Olio and so it goes
Sing a song of gladness
Olio and so it goes
Give silence to your sadness.

(singing)
Olio and so it goes
Sing a song of gladness
Olio and so it goes
Give silence to your sadness.

Love is not just about you
And surely not just about me.
Love never exists anywhere
Unless we’re both free.
It cannot be a prison
Where one holds the key.
Love is not just about you
And surely not just about me.

Love is never selfish
If so, it’s something different.
It may be lust or desire
But it is some other sentiment.
You might wish it to be love
But if it’s all about what you meant
Then it is something besides love
Caanot stand as its equivalent.

If you love someone you wish
They get all that is good for them.
You say prayers for their life
And then you say amen.
Because you wish them to have
All the joy there ever has been,
And when they get that, you wish
That it will happen once again.

So, how can it be love if you
Wish only what you may need?
How can it be love if it is
All about your own sense of greed?
Love is not just about you
And surely not just about me.
Love never exists anywhere
Unless we’re both free.

Lie cheat and steal
Fascism is totally real
What deals are they cooking
When none of us is looking?
**** **** and destroy
The fascist version of joy.
Buy a few ****** congressmen
Start the whole thing over again.

Washington DC is always run
By sellouts and crooks, every one.
It you want things to not be the same
Do something about changing the game.
Find out where your representatives
Go to play, to bank and live,
If they seem to be able to walk
Totally different than they talk.

Keep the waters murky and hazy
Because the voters are so lazy.
Tell a bunch of lies on TV
Nobody cares about reality.
They think celebrity shows
Are the way life really goes.
That is, of course, because
Nobody notices the cameras.

Washington DC is always run
By sellouts and crooks, every one.
It you want things to not be the same
Do something about changing the game.
Find out where your representatives
Go to play, to bank and live,
If they seem to be able to walk
Totally different than they talk.

Washington DC is always run
By sellouts and crooks, every one.
It you want things to not be the same
Do something about changing the game.
Find out where your representatives
Go to play, to bank and live,
If they seem to be able to walk
Totally different than they talk.

An important thing for us to remember
Is to act like Christmas beyond December.
Peace on earth, and good will to men
Should need a certain date to begin.
It should be going on all the time.
The same with theft and other crime.
Our virtue as a nation will come up short
If all we care about is our favorite sport.

I don’t believe a word you say;
You voted for Trump, so go away.
I don’t want your opinion any more
On literally any kind of issue.
Though you now begin to realize
What you did to us all. Get a tissue.
Go stand in the corner and let us
Adults fix up the mess you made.
None of you paid attention
Further than the second grade.

It’s not truly all your fault, I confess.
We have to lay blame on the press.
I’m not much happier with the
Millions who didn’t even vote.
They stayed home and ******;
Made the country miss the boat.
A lazy, worthless population
Is a shameful kind of circumstance
But a stupid loudmouthed bunch of fools
Is at the prom without any pants.

Then we look to a political group
That rolls around in their own ****
By electing a pompous baboon
Who can barely read or spell
Who spews out daily jabberwocky
That drives us all to a kind of hell.
He's an attention ***** and monster.
A spoiled rich brat with no brains
Who wants to set fire to the USA
Then urinate on the remains.

The horror is, though it’s all visible
Your lack of care about facts is risible.
You gladly go along with him when
He blames his predecessor instead,
Saying the fault is what your idiot did
Not keeping the truth firmly in your head.
It’s no longer campaign rhetoric.
So please wake the hell up and see
What your stupidity is doing to us
Because we can’t bend you over our knees.

I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******;
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.

I am usually flat broke
Not a dollar to my name.
It’s almost like saving up
Has never been my game.
I know I could maybe do well
By snuggling someone wealthy,
But I know people who did that
And it never worked out healthy.

I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******;
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.

I’d much rather just play around
And see what happens then.
I don’t plan and I don’t demand,
I don’t insist we do it all again.
I might be gone when you wake
Off to have new adventures.
I don’t care if my wandering ways
Are looked upon with abject censure.

I say it up front, so no heartbreak,
I tell you please don’t to marry me.
I pay my own way and sleep where I wish.
I don’t need anyone to carry me.
If you see me down the road a ways
And I’m behaving some other way instead;
Not the jiggle-free ******, I am normally
Then bury me, it means I’m dead

I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******;
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.

Brent Kincaid
4/28/2019