I am really not passible
Just **** as possible
For a well-worn *****.
And, they call me Missy
Because I don’t think I can
Act like a masculine man
So spare me your hissy fit
Go someplace and get over it.

I can walk well in high heels
Don’t need any training wheels.
My taste in clothes is excellent
Not the slightest bit recalcitrant.
I’m fully into the new club scene
About half way to a drag queen.
One more piece of women’s wear
I’ll be ready to go about anywhere.

My movements are very delicate
And that is, of course, deliberate.
You get more if you advertise
And some assets I can’t disguise.
I’m six feet tall in my stocking feet
As spicy as Red Hots and twice as sweet.
If you don’t like your she-girls tall
Then you don’t know what’s good at all.

You’ll find me in cabarets, everywhere.
We’ll be up at the bar or in a chair
Showing off our legs and swinging
Lip-synching the words the juke is singing.
We’ll appreciate a drink, if you are buying,
We’ll make your day complete without trying.
We’re full of fun and know lots of jokes.
We’re a short vacation for the right blokes.

I am really not passible
Just **** as possible
For a well-worn *****.
And, they call me Missy
Because I don’t think I can
Act like a masculine man
So spare me your hissy fit
Go someplace and get over it.

I can walk well in high heels
Don’t need any training wheels.
My taste in clothes is excellent
Not the slightest bit recalcitrant.
I’m fully into the new club scene
About half way to a drag queen.
One more piece of women’s wear
I’ll be ready to go about anywhere.

My movements are very delicate
And that is, of course, deliberate.
You get more if you advertise
And some assets I can’t disguise.
I’m six feet tall in my stocking feet
As spicy as Red Hots and twice as sweet.
If you don’t like your she-girls tall
Then you don’t know what’s good at all.

You’ll find me in cabarets, everywhere.
We’ll be up at the bar or in a chair
Showing off our legs and swinging
Lip-synching the words the juke is singing.
We’ll appreciate a drink, if you are buying,
We’ll make your day complete without trying.
We’re full of fun and know lots of jokes.
We’re a short vacation for the right blokes.

(And, no. It is not autobiographical.)

Our Congresspeople get rich
No matter how much you *****.
They do it again and again
Because fools voted them in.
You can’t make them stop
Because we don’t have a cop
That works for our side in DC.
We can’t call this the land of the Free.

It’s the land of gouge and overcharge;
Of money laundering crooks at large,
Calling themselves patriots and stealing.
There seems to be no thieving ceiling.
Rave and threaten and lie about it
There seems to be no doubt about it.
We are in the clutches of the greedy
Who fashion themselves as the needy.

And like some Middle Eastern nuts
They are constantly showing their butts.
They commit their crimes daily
Then go about almost gaily
Pointing at the victims they harmed
And claiming the poor are armed
Then trying to take away our rights.
They’re the people that rob us at night.

Yes, they are the crooks and now
They don’t even have to explain how
Because a third of our voters are dolts
Who have no concept of the nuts and bolts
Of the complex offices that lead us.
We’re in the hands of jerks that bleed us.
Once this nation was something great.
I hope we fix this before it’s too late.

They don't know the bubbleheads the ones
They don’t really know what they’ve done
Is a simple matter once we dissect it.
And what they really need to do about it.
They wring their hands as they are *******,
And neurotically grab at an attitude;
Then blame anybody else for their misery.
It’s a frightening case of mistaken identity.

Everything he says
Comes out backward.
Nothing about him
Is really straightforward.
It’s like he came here
From Bizarro World.
Both of the forks
Of his tongue are curled.

He makes our lives
Like a lower rank of hell.
You won’t want to buy
A single thing he sells.
You can figure out
This reptilian guy
Just expect everything
He says to be a lie.

If he says it’s a nice day
Run for your umbrella.
At all possible costs
You should avoid this fella.
And if you know someone
Who tells you he is nice
Run as fast as you can
From them, take my advice.

He has never been honest
He has never even tried.
You’ll quickly lose count
Of the times he has lied.
If you think for a second
That he cares about you
Believe me when I say
It just cannot be true.

Because the only person
This guy loves is himself
And he doesn’t give a ****
About anybody else.
Not his family, nor his wife
Please be a believer.
In truth, he doesn’t really
Love himself either.

His whole world is backward,
What he hates describes him.
He tells about how he is
So handsome and slim.
But actually he’s a tub of lard
And socially quite awkward.
But he doesn’t realize it.
He is, after all, himself:
Mister Backward.

I was moaning softly
So you would not hear.
I do it every moment
When you are not near.
It’s like I’m emptied out
In the blink of an eye.
All I want to do is to
Sit right here and cry.

I want you to stay
Don’t want you to go
But you’ve got your life
So, what do I know?
If I were the one who
Was just perfect for you
You’d stay by my side
My dream would come true.

I pretend in front of you
So you don’t even know
How much I miss you
Every time you go.
I know it’s silly of me
You have broken no vows
But that doesn’t help me
When I feel as I feel now.

I’m hurting inside myself
And I’m missing your touch,
Your kiss and your smile
Came to mean so much.
I hate sounding needy
Even though it’s a fact.
I’m so much in love that
I don’t know how to act.

I want you to stay
Don’t want you to go
But you’ve got your life
So, what do I know?
If I were the one who
Was just perfect for you
You’d stay by my side
My dream would come true.

Our God is really excellent
At death and genocide.
How we love to celebrate
How many folks have died.
We always feel better about life
And the wonderful heavenly joy
When we’ve murdered some foreigner's wife.
Or when we put to death girls and boys.

It is so commendable of humans
To execute those who are different
Or if they commit the cardinal sin
Of being some kind of sick dissident
Who refuses to do what we want
Like maybe lying down and acquiescing
Or refusing to shut up and play along with
Our political posturing and window dressing.

And is is all sacred and very holy;
Every bit of it is hidden by claims
That all genocide and bigotry
Is committed in our God’s name,
Unless the genocide and prejudice
Is directed anywhere near us.
The we whip out our Bibles and cry
And make a self-righteous fuss.

The Golden Rule applies to all
Except heathens and non-Caucasians.
And then it’s a noose, SWAT team or
At least an *** for every occasion.
Because killing people is terrible;
It is simply not the proper way
To deal with all of life’s issues,
Unless we want to, then it’s okay.

And all of it is by The Good Book
If the right verses are selected.
The American Bible is written to insure
The right people are not neglected.
And everyone should worship
And join the Living God’s legions
And be exactly like he lived life:
A blond-haired, blue eyed Norwegian.

Into the dust of Mojave
On a blow-away afternoon
Wandered a traveling stranger
To the highway truck stop saloon.
Taking a seat by the window
His back to the hot blowing wind
You could tell by his face he was grateful
To be out of the sun once again.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.

Then a laugh floated up from the corner
Where the stranger had recently been.
Except for the glass he had emptied
The booth was practically clean.
Out on the road he was walking
His back to the sweltering town.
His car was still parked at the truck stop
But the stranger did not turn around.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.

The Monetary Moai
Standing on the shore
Making sure you worship them
Making sure they get more.

More of your offerings
More of your respect
Even if the have to take you
And hang you by the neck.

The Moai are important
With their grant-faced stare.
You may or may not like them
But they don’t have to care.

They are the gods to you,
And you the fools that revere them.
You put them on their pedestals;
Stop others from coming near them.

You, the ones who refuse
To question them and their power
Have made them the gods they are
Right up until their final hour.

It they ever revert to the truth
As just strange hunks of stone
Maybe then you will leave them
Ignored, disintegrating and alone.

But as long as these monoliths
Represent something good to you
There is nothing that the rest of us
Can, by resisting them, can ever do.

We can talk and chant and rant
And tell you that you are all fools
But it was your hands that put them up
Your effort, superstitions and tools.

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?

Poor little chunky girl
Never had a chance
Losing to the skinny girls
Alone at the dance.
Poor little skinny girl
It’s making her sick
When her godly classmates
Refer to her as "stick".

Poor little plain faced girl
They tease her for no makeup.
Poor overpainted girl
The social kids just break up.
Poor little not bright girl
They call her by names
Poor little brainy girl
They do the very same.

Poor little boy in glasses
They tease him mercilessly
Poor little nearsighted girl
The tease when she cannot see.
Poor little boy who stumbles
They tease because he’s no ****.
The same boy after school
Who has to work on a dock.

Poor little kids who suffer so much
Because there’s no cash for clothes;
Some of them live in camps so
They can’t always smell like a rose.
Poor little kids who are in trouble
Can expect no help from schools
Because the faculty is gun shy
From being sued by stupid fools.

Mountebanks and madmen
And marvelous maidens
Populate and pollute politics
Which joss sticks cannot chase
Or alleviate the electorate
In its counter clockwise swirl
Down its own bathroom drain.
Only morals don’t ameliorate
It only exacerbates, enervates
Rather than eliminates the pain.

The pain is felt by franklins,
Never the nobles or magnates;
They go on and make play dates
With other multi-billionaires
In debonair pied-a-terre lofts
And scoff at the peasantry
While exchanging pleasantries
Over gold-laced desserts
Thinking nobody gets hurt
If they pilfer and pillage
Far off village and town
Tearing down and razing,
With life grazing scorched earth.

To the rich, nobody has worth;
Voices that implore are muted
And garbage-chuted in the press.
Nothing to confess, the smile;
A mile of porcelainized teeth
Made more intense by pretense
That importance is impotence
In the face of extreme wealth
When stealth cease efficacy
And delicacy isn’t required.
The moral judge is fired.
A new wife is squired
In hopes a son is sired
To take over the empire.

He’s the meanest kid on the block
His head is made of solid rock
He is no good at all
His morals are too small
And I want to give him a good hard sock.

Can’t trust him past where you can throw him
Your mind hurts just because you know him.
There’s not much he’s good for
A class-A notorious bore.
A waste of the cost it took to grow him.

I’d tell you that he is homely
But that would not be only
The one thing that makes him bad.
He seldom keeps his word
And everything you have heard
About him should make you sad.

He’s a gold-plated, two-****** tinhorn
He knows how to steal with both hands.
He’s never acted right
Even when asleep at night;
He’s the kind of creep nobody understands.

His pants very rightly should be on fire
Because he is just that kind of a liar.
He really loves to boast.
It’s the thing he loves the most.
Bragging is the object of his desire.

Listening to him causes dread
Like a nail going through my head
Because I know he doesn’t care about us.
We’re just creatures he will use
Then leave us without our shoes
Mistaking brains for being devious.

You’re worried god will be offended
That I will fall in love the wrong way,
But won’t have any problem with
The children you let starve today?
You look so carefully into my life
And claim it’s all about morality
Then lock scared children in cages
While you brag about your decency.

You are what you say you hate
You don’t have what you claim;
You don’t have an honest bone,
Idea, or principle to your name.

You have carefully been fed your lines;
You make specious, wafer thin excuses,
You blame good people for your lies,
For your own past and present abuses.
If there is a god in heaven looking on
You are headed for your self-described hell.
But worry not, you’ll have lots of company
Among the devils you have supported so well.

You are what you say you hate
You don’t have what you claim;
You don’t have an honest bone,
Idea, or principle to your name.

Brent Kincaid
5/9/2019

She sits on the courthouse steps
Playing songs she herself wrote
Every word she sings she means
Her heart there in every note.
She sings of the pain she sees
In the world that passes by.
She sings to you and to me
Her music makes you cry.

(She sings)
We who have so much
Give little to the others.
We let our children starve
And do not help the mothers
And the fathers who work
To make their daily bread
While rich people won’t help
Keep a house over their heads.

She manages to choose chords
That sing of lonely suffering.
Her angelic voice softens up
The accusations she’s uttering.
She tells of squandered glory
In the wasting of our lives
While the overfed rich people
Go home to their gilded wives.

(She sings)
We who have so much
Give little to the others.
We let our children starve
And do not help the mothers
And the fathers who work
To make their daily bread
While rich people won’t help
Keep a house over their heads.

Few listen to the troubadour
Who tells us all our name.
They may drop in a penny
To soften up their shame.
But every day they pass her
And soon they do not hear
The wisdom in her lyrics.
They do not feel the fear.

(She sings)
We who have so much
Give little to the others.
We let our children starve
And do not help the mothers
And the fathers who work
To make their daily bread
While rich people won’t help
Keep a house over their heads.

Brent Kincaid
4/18/2015

I’m not going crazy.
I’m not being lazy.
Please don’t be a grouch
If I want to lie on the couch
And do nothing much today.
Believe me when I say
It’s not what you think
It’s not from drugs or drink.
It’s not a neurosis
It’s Multiple Sclerosis.

I may seem to stagger
I can no longer swagger.
So, understand this please
I can’t command my knees.
I’m fighting back day and night
And I won’t give up the fight.
What looks like one thing
Can be a much worse thing.
It’s not a neurosis
It’s Multiple Sclerosis.

Life is so full of challenges.
The list of what the damage is
Sometimes seems to outweigh
The cost of living life today.
But, I will not ever surrender.
I must be my best defender
As nobody pays my body bill.
I fight despair and always will.
It’s not a neurosis
It’s Multiple Sclerosis.

To be fair, this superstitious stuff
Goes a helluva long way back.
It was around the time of Babel
That the Israelites lost all track
Of logic and reason in the books
They were peddling as God’s word.
Oh, okay, they were just passing on
Mesopotamian stories they heard
But then to start calling it all
The voice of the spiritual over-mind
Means we are expected to be
Sort of intellectually deaf and blind.
Even if one can accept things like
A snake that talks and wheedles
I think accepting talking bushes
Requires stuff in hypodermic needles.

I think you have confused
Your Jehovah with Santa.
They are not the same thing.
Let me hear you say hallelujah!
Some of your traditions are
Verging on the weird and funny
When you peddle stories
About an egg-laying bunny.
And that basket of fishes
To feed a thousand was dumb.
In prehistoric Israel, just where
Did those freeloaders come from?
That strange ‘water into wine’ thing
Would be banned by law today.
Jesus, as evangelical moonshiner?
The authorities would put him away.

But that’s all fine and good if
One personally deems it to be so,
This claiming to run daily life
By words memorized long ago.
Since some of it makes sense
It may be easier to just ignore
Things like wizards and magic
As something from long before.
Evidence today says nobody lived
For eight hundred years and such.
But things like facts don’t seem
To bother religious people that much.
So, have at it, you spooky folks
With your symbols and mystery
Just save your breath if you think
You’ll get acceptance from me.

Where were you when you heard
First heard some legendary song?
Does it get permanently hooked
To that time in life as it went along?

When I was twelve years old
I was coming home on the bus
A car radio playing Elvis singing
That’s “All Right Mama” passed us.

Freezing my *** in a weapons plant
When I first heard “Everybody’s Talking”.
I had no money and no good car
But I almost started walking.

All the time I was driving
“Light My Fire”, was always playing
With that bridge you couldn’t ignore.
I always link going west on I-40 to
My introduction then to the Doors.

T’was almost fifty years ago today
Sergeant Pepper and his band did play.
I was working as fry cook in KC
Wishing I could afford to run away.

I heard Yes singing “Your Move”
In Hollywood on Sunset and Vine.
I had no idea who that group was
I only knew they were new and fine.

Bopping down Hollywood Boulevard
And fashionable in Frankenstein shoes
I was styling with my pleated bells
Singing “Staying Alive” as I would cruise.

Music changed for me again, for the better
With the opening of Yellow Brick Road.
Elton made that dramatic opening bit
Opposite of a country *****-backed toad.

Barbra and Donna in great duet called
Were wailing out “Enough Is Enough”.
I was thinking finding a better team
Than those two divas would be tough.

I have always wanted
A legendary love affair,
But of ever finding one
I fear I was in despair.
I admit I wanted the closeness
And the permanence of it all;
Finding that perfect relationship.
I just never knew what to call.

I hoped for just thinking
Of my lover night and day
And that kind of communication
That time did not take away.
I thought of little glances
And phrases we might create
That sent entire sentences
Back and forth, mate to mate.

But in the larger sense of things
That didn’t come into play.
No looks or code words needed
To say what we have to say
Because when he hurts, I do
And when he suffers I cry.
I used to wonder and question
But now I no longer try.

I just accept that we are
So totally consumed by love
That questioning would be like
Not accepting it was from above;
From some perfect kind of care
That has matched us together.
I simply smile and sincerely hope
We will be this way forever.

If it ever gets in our way, I know
We are strong enough to heal
But something inside me says
This is all so utterly real.
Somehow that old adage of
Two making just the one
Should always make our hearts sing
And be sublimely fun.

My country does not believe in equality.
It buys excuses for elitism and misogyny.
It covers up its greed and its brutality
And makes up ugly labels for decency.

My country sings its songs about freedom
But often denies it to those who need some.
It celebrates our heritage with beer and ***
And marches to the beat of a fascist drum.

My country was founded by nice words
Some of the finest man has ever heard.
Then shows the intelligence of a cattle herd;
And the social conscience of rotted bean curd.

My country labors under some illusions
That contribute to a national delusion
That fame will ultimately cure all contusions
And eradicate the effects of collusion.

My country thinks pretty people are sacrosanct
So, they let the beautiful load up their piggy bank.
We see reverence for the most egregious crank,
And have many of our countrymen to thank.

My country isn’t very good at followup.
It adopted the behavior of an untrained pup.
As long as it has its favorite pablum to sup
It will drink any poison that’s in their cup.

My country is this way, has been for too long
And if you disagree with the words of my song
Write your own treatise to try to prove me wrong.
For now I will keep on banging this protest gong.

My daddy wants Republicans
Standing in a line
Then ship them all to Moscow
That would be just fine.
Then after all is said and done
There shouldn't be any fuss
Since that is exactly what
They want to do to us.

They can try graft and corruption
In any foreign war zone;
Dead, like they wish our youth
They'll leave us all alone.
It never seemed a good idea
All this war and death and hate
But Republicans love it all so much
It is their fitting fate.

So Dad wishes all Republicans should
Be put in a big ugly ship.
He's fine with them being gone forever
And wishes them a speedy trip.
So adios all you Republicans
We're sick of all your messing.
Go away and stay away.
You have my father's blessing.

I call my shoes doxies
'Cause they really get around
Just like the hookers
In the sleaziest part of town.
They started out rather nice
But now they show their years.
They look so much better
After you’ve had a couple beers.

Come with me, Doxies.
Let's us take us a stroll
To a cheap bar I know.
Not much money in my roll.
I need to meet the kind of gal
Who won't look at my feet
And think I am cool enough
To wink at her on the street.

I still have some swagger left
From when my shoes were new,
And I can still bust some moves
With a fancy step or two.
The shine on my Doxies has not
Stayed as they were long ago
But I'm sure they'll serve me well
For maybe another year or so.

My Doxies are a bit beat up,
But still they have some verve;
Just enough class that we
Can throw a hot babe a curve.
So don't look down on my Doxies;
They're the only shoes I've got.
They get me where I need to go
And I really like them a lot.

Scary Larry,
The Margarita Fairy
Could drink anything,
As long as it wasn’t dairy.
Bollocky Pollack
Hung up his smock
Covered with paint
Put it on the auction block.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

And Yeaster Bunny
Thinking he was funny
Baked bread dildoes
That sold for bags of money.
Scott Tissue
Said “We’re gonna miss you.
Your bread will sell quicker
If don’t make it an issue.”

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

Phony Joanie
Wishes for alimony
But refuses to divorce
Her husband Tony.
Decided she plans
To keep him instead.
Good for ready money
Though he's lousy in bed.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

**** Poncho,
Everybody seems to
Dig his Mayan body
If only for a day or two.
Then he's off to play
With somebody new
Maybe some other day
He'll make it back to you.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

My girlfriend won’t canoodle.
I’M not sure what’s amiss.
She refuses to even cuddle
And slaps me when I kiss.
She pulls away from me when
I try to cradle her in my arm.
It’s like she thinks I am a creep
Who intends to cause her harm.

Once I thought she was shy
Because she avoided my eyes.
Now I think she it is because
She’d rather I didn’t try.
I'D catch a look on her face
That goes away almost never.
I can’t just keep buying her things
Well, at least, not forever.

When we go out together
She tends to hide her face.
I have noticed she walks fast
And I almost have to race
To manage to walk beside
And  not fall too far behind.
I think if I just went home
She really wouldn’t mind.

I may have started with her
With the wrong tactics.
It’s just that pretty women do
Tend to turn me into a fanatic.
So I let her have her way
Did everything she wanted,
As long as our relationship
Was never overtly flaunted.

I guess I am such a wimp
That takes too long to see
That what was wrong was her,
And was never really me.
I’ve never known what’s wrong
I’ve done everything I can.
I didn’t even break up with her
When I discovered she’s a man.

My god told me
To **** those who are different.
My god told me
That genocide is efficient.
"Go into their land
And **** every living creature."
I saw it on TV just last week
In a Technicolor double feature.

My god told me
Gay people are abomination
My god told me
To hold back children’s rations.
Rip babies out of parent’s arms
Because they are terrorists
Pay no attention to the heartache
That’s just how my god’s law is.

My god told me
It matters about the color of skin
People can be born inhuman
Depending on the country you’re in.
It’s not as bad to be a dark person
If you stay in dark people lands,
But here in the good old USA they
Only deserve to be migrant hands.

My god told me
What’s sin for other people to do
Is not a sin for me to commit
The criminal things done by you.
My god told me
It’s just fine to cheat on my wife.
As long as I go to church weekly,
I will have a wonderful, godly life.

My god told me
Other people have to wrong idea
About who is god and who is not
And who will burn with the devil
In some place below, where it’s hot.
My god told me
To worship no god but him, it’s true.
Well, I worship Jesus, his misnamed son
So, I’m going to heaven, aren’t you?

I am the person I recall.
I am sure of each memory
As thought-pictures fall
Inside the books of history
I keep inside my mind.
I gladly water the gardens
Of nostalgia I always find
When I think back to then.

These are beautiful blossoms
Of who and where I was
And most are wholesome
And are there for a cause.
They exist because I chose
To take a path I once saw
That brought something close;
I chose gee instead of haw.
And some beautiful person
I might never have met
Stood there in the distance
And I never would forget.

I am a middle class guy
From the vast middle west
Who never dared to try
To find out what was best
For me, and only me.
Who never knew the answer
Of how I could be free
Afraid to just go and wander.
So afraid, I would not wonder
Or hope or make plans
I was letting my life splatter
Out of my open hands.

Then a change came over me
In an ugly, icy winter storm.
“I could move myself westerly
And live where it is warm.”
So, I packed up my boyfriend
And my late model used car
And moved to the land’s end
Out with the television stars.
I got us a small bungalow
And started on a new way
To live and let my past go
And live from day to day.

I can’t say I got good very soon
At doing what I wanted to do.
Being brainwashed by goons
Can make lies of what is true.
And if the goons are parents
Who hate the person you are
Taking control of resentments
Is not like just starting a car.
I had to learn to like just me
And to turn my face away
From the catcalls and misery
That comprised my earlier days.

The boyfriend left and more
Came and went as he did.
So many I could not keep score.
I am sure some went and hid.
I was not much fun back then;
Greedy and needy and weak.
And, few wanted to brave the tide
And let their feelings speak
To tell me what a train-wreck
I had turned out to be.
Most just disappeared along my trek.
Yet, a few said words to aid
And I heard them through the noise
Of negative conditioning laid
On the heads of hated young boys.

Then I changed, having done
With banging my head against fact.
I began to see I was the one
To decide how I would act.
I learned to check with no one
To see what I would prefer.
I spent my time just having fun
And let circumstances occur.
I began to look around me
And notice the people who
Matched the words they said to me
And that their words rang true.

I learned some people walked
Exactly as they wanted to
And it was the way they talked.
And then, I suddenly knew.
I could just pass on by
The people that didn’t know how
And I didn’t have to explain why.
I can live in the here and now.

Brent Kincaid
4/9/2015

I was desert when you brought rain.
You were a balm to cure my pain.
I could not talk without my tears.
You brought love to allay my fears.
I was living in the future and the past.
You helped enjoy the present at last.
I learned to love again from your kiss.
Everyone should know a love like this.

I had only the dreams of a little child,
The romantic fantasies I let run wild,
Stumbling through uncareful affairs,
Only to discover that nobody cares
About a needy infant of mature years
Who pulls his life down around his ears.
Then your voice brought reason to me
And then suddenly I could actually see.

The best way to find out what you need
Is to know what you don’t want to succeed.
I had plenty of experience of the things
I didn’t want and what they could bring.
So, I started listing what I needed to grow
And then helped myself to make it so.
I stopped investing my time in looks.
I figured out what behavior it really took.

What was important was the heart
Of the person I would love, then start
To see if the rest matched my needs.
Love can grow from just these seeds.
You were the one who taught me this
By caring for me and sharing a kiss
That helped me to stop my routine
Of looking for love from a magazine.

I’m not going to make money by
Creating some clever gadget.
That costs too much for advertising
To fit in my future budget.
I’m not going to write a book yet
Because they are hard to sell.
I decided against self-help seminars.
Sitting through those is hell.

I’m not going to learn hairdressing
So I can be a pricey hair ******.
I’m not going to write recipes to show
A hundred ways to use a blender.
I ruled out auditioning for **** flicks
I’m far to shy for all that.
I won’t be trying to make viral videos
Of adorable fuzzy little cats.

You won’t be hearing any hit songs
Written by me, myself and I.
I can’t carry a tune and can’t rhyme
So, right away I won’t even try.
I can’t paint and I can’t draw at all
So, I won’t be a world-class artist.
I won’t become a rocket scientist
In math I was never the smartest.

I'm not going to start some con game
And leave them all in the lurch.
Well, in a manner of speaking I am,
Because I'm starting a church.
I’ll spend tons of money on my home
And make a big flashy cathedral
Then spend lots of time bragging
How it’s all so very spiritual.

People will send me lots of cash thinking.
That will get them into heaven.
I’ll make more money selling God to them
Than owning a thousand 7-11s.
I’ll only need to convince my followers that
I have the get-out-of-hell-free card;
That I am the path to understanding God
And that just can’t be that hard.

I wish you all the happeiness
I wanted for myself and more.
I wish you find that one person
You can appreciate and adore.
I wish you songbirds at dawn
And cool breezes at night
I hope all your fondest dreams
Will turn out to be just right.

If wishes were waterfalls
And dreams were butterflies
I would want them all for you
Unfolding before your eyes.
If love could make magic
I would say the secret words
And grant you everything
The moment they were heard.

I wish you romantic dinners
And walks along the river
Under twinkling skirts of stars
And long, loving talks together.
I wish the joys one finds in love
And being close to each other.
I wish you mutual respect
And that it goes on forever.

If wishes were waterfalls
And dreams were butterflies
I would want them all for you
Unfolding before your eyes.
If love could make magic
I would say the secret words
And grant you everything
The moment they were heard.

I wish you what I'm sure love is,
Which is that I want for you
That all the best should happen
And my wishes will come true.
I wish you all the best of life,
And the heaven it can be.
I wish wondrous days for you,
I just wish it were with me.

If wishes were waterfalls
And dreams were butterflies
I would want them all for you
Unfolding before your eyes.
If love could make magic
I would say the secret words
And grant you everything
The moment they were heard.

May I have your attention?
This information is for you.
Put this in your dictionary,
****** doesn’t mean ‘let’s *****’.
It might do where you come from
But some of us were raised better.
We recognize and accept
The Constitution to the letter.

It guarantees our freedom as
Citizens of this fine nation.
Nowhere does it say nudists should
Be treated with degradation
And blocked from freedom to be
Who they really are at heart.
Denying natural freedoms is
Where fascism gets its start.

If you have been trained in a way
That genitalia is abomination
You’re the one who is indecent
And needs some repatriation.
It’s not like someone naked is
Automatically getting it on.
That’s just inside your mind, so
Only you can make it be gone.

A lot of what you are thinking
And the very thing you are fear
Is not real, it’s irrational
This is what you need to hear;
Some may not find you ****
When they see you naked
But those are not nudists.
They’re unclothed bigots that fake it.

May I have your attention?
This information is for you.
Put this in your dictionary,
****** doesn’t mean ‘let’s *****’.
It might do where you come from
But some of us were raised better.
We recognize and accept
The Constitution to the letter

Let’s play Name That Goon.
How many can you get right?
Someone you see every day
In the news, in plain sight.

The first one looks very much
Like a troll doll but larger.
He brags about how much
Money he has in his larder.
But, his blather does not
Include many discernable facts.
He’s about half of the man
He stands on stage and acts.

The second one is a talker
In a very vaunted arena.
He seems as incapable of truth
As a citizen named Fiorina.
He’s been faking his credentials
And his skin has darkened.
He’s orange, so one wonders
If the old KKK has harkened.

The third one was a big cheese
And he was a big deal once
Until his mouth and behavior
Proved him to be a dunce.
But not before his crew
And his ineptitude managed
To leave the country *******
And semi-permanently damaged.

The fourth was the third’s pal
In all those dastardly deeds
That any tale well scripted
Or any tragedy needs.
He made a bundle for him
And all of his colluding pals.
Maybe he thought that might
Make him attractive to the gals.

The next one is the queen
Of the Washington crazies.
She might make a bigger fool
Of herself, but she’s too lazy
And as stupid as a box of lint.
She opens mouth and convinces.
Every time she speechifies
The entire country winces.

So, now we have done it
We have played Name That Goon.
If this glib poet doesn’t choke
We can have more real soon.
So, you all play nice and have fun
At your next political gathering.
And keep track of who is who
And what they are all blathering.

Often, perfection is a reflection
And you are looking into a mirror
You might need to see clearer
To realize you are staring
At a glaring projection of you
And not someone in front of you.
Now you have something to do.
You get to see if illusion
Causes so much confusion
You don’t know who is who
And who is they and who is you.
Sometimes, it’s not fun to do
Because new doesn’t always mean
Best, or wonderful or fun.

It reminds of the a certain elf
Who fell in love with himself
But he was looking in a mirror.
A lady elf called to him, but
He couldn’t hear her.
He was listening to poetry
Of love and praise of beauty
And felt it was his duty
To listen in total rapture
Not realizing he was captured
By the words he heard.
He felt he had no choice.
But it was his own voice.
He was listening to himself.
Silly elf.

So, if you work in Santa’s home
And look rather like a gnome
You might be excused
When you get accused
Of falling for your reflection.
This is just a suggestion,
But it seems it never misses,
Just remember old Narcissus
And don’t follow this whim.
Don’t be like him and the lake
Loving this reflection so thoroughly
You lose touch with reality
And make a conscious decision
To fall for a warped vision.

He lives in a world
Of never and always
Even though there is
No such land.
You could explain
All the facts to him
But he would fail to
Grasp them or understand.

It’s all about opinion
And how he feels
And the way he thinks
About what he sees.
Nothing fazes him
Nothing teaches him
And no hint of reality
Brings him to his knees.

He only cares about
What he wants to have
Or what he wants
To make you believe.
He doesn’t love anyone
He hates almost everyone
He only gets upset
But he never grieves.

He looks into the mirror
And only sees himself
Because in his universe
There is nobody else.
You are just something
That is here to be used.
If he badly wants to do it
He is allowed to abuse.

After all, sun and moon
Revolve, rise and set on him.
In his solar system one star shines
Everything else is very dim.
Since he is rich, and can afford it
He keeps paid companions close.
He can stand free thinkers
Only by the miniature dose.

You raised them
You should keep them
And pay all their bills;
What you raised spills
Over into the common weal
And fears become real
As they are ignorant
Greedy and mean
Worst we’ve ever seen
And no hope of salvation
From your creation.

Are you afraid of your kid?
Is that what you did;
Let him or her do whatever
And you never told them
What is wisdom or whim?
Let them do what they please
As long as they don’t sneeze
In church or belch loudly
Then you can go on proudly
Bragging about your good child
Until they run totally wild
And get themselves arrested.
Then your lies are bested
And your laziness outed.
No wonder you pouted.

When things go wrong
You want someone to come along
And take care of things
And pay the fines that brings
Because they are sweet, down deep.
Then you go back to sleep
Because life should be easy for you
And the things your kids do
Are not your fault, so back out to buy
More magazines about movie stars
And slobber over newer cars
And ***** about the schools
Not teaching them the rules
And how to pursue them
Then you go out and sue them
For teaching what you do
And not what kids should do.

Waiting my turn to pay
For the items we need today;
The beans and the chili
And some picklelilli
And costly imported pate.

A headline that says glaringly
What some starlet does daringly.
What I see before my eyes
A big edition full of lies
They put here to tempt me daringly.

Where childbirth oddities
Are viewed as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.

We all know these stories
Are anecdotal glories
Made up by the magazines;
The tawdriest ever seen
And they don’t mind getting gory.
It’s yellow journalism
A sort of print format ****
Intended for the kind of fool
Who never finished school
And falls for jingoism.

Where childbirth oddities
Are views as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.

Brent Kincaid
4/18/2015

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.

We have the wherewithal
To feed every boy and girl.
We also have the resources
To blow up half the world.

We have the extra cash
To let Congressmen roam
And also full resources
To give everybody a home.

We have plenty of money
To pay countries to like us.
Why can’t we make life
For our own people joyous?

We seem to be able to
Make death machines for all,
Why can’t we create for us
Medicine whose cost is small?

We can afford to give subsides
To the corporate welfare queens
So, why can’t we figure out how
To make functioning voting machines?

We buy stupid tripe every day in print
Why can’t we give up that crap for lent?
We hurl insults at non-Christians brothers.
It’s not possible this is what Jesus meant.

We have the wherewithal
To feed every boy and girl.
We also have the resources
To blow up half the world.

We saw the natives,
Stole their land,
Burdened their country
With a foreign brand.
Called them savages,
Burned their villages
Prayed to God
To help us pillage.

Knock the natives
To their knees,
Call them inhuman
Take what you need.
Never apologize,
Never confess.
They deserve no better.
Look how they dress.

They’re not decent people.
They aren’t even nice.
How could they be?
They don’t believe in Christ.
We sure don’t want them
To be our neighbor.
They'd not even be that
Much use as slave labor.

Let’s fix this country
Everybody lend a hand
We are all living
In the Promised Land.
Stolen from natives who
Knew what they were doing
Now we are letting it
Descend into a ruin.

To some it’s all conjectural,
Philosophically conceptual.
You think you’re intellectual
But your reasoning is ineffectual.
Reviled both by heterosexuals
Insulted as well by homosexuals
And some ugly issues contractual
We are the besmirched bisexuals.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

The straights tell us we must decide
Then put the other gender aside.
The complaints range far and wide
Even gay people opt to deride.
We don’t feel welcomed anywhere inside.
Why doesn’t tolerance coincide
When nobody seems to take our side?
It’s freedom, get on the bus and ride.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

We know, after years of research
Gender choice is not learned in church.
It can be shaped with rods of birch
But those are better for birds to perch.
Denying us freedom is an ugly lurch
Past including truth in a morality search.
Back to when we were ruled by a church
And any variance was besmirched.

While it is the opposite of equality
It is the essence of our reality,
A warped straight-centric morality
Based on a Christianist plurality.

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.

And for those of you who don’t
Find Trump to be pernicious,
He shows his *** to one and all,
I hope you find it is delicious.
For those of you who lived in
Dream castles of foolish hope
You have backed an evil man
A charlatan and a dope.

If you tried hard and long
You could not have done worse
And that is the reason for
This neener neener verse.
I can’t think how he could
Have warned you any better.
He promised things intelligence
Could discredit by the letter.

He said he would do stuff
So totally unconstitutional,
That made the rich richer,
And proved you were delusional
To trust a total ripoff guy
Who has been cheating for years.
Why did you think this fool
Would allay any of your fears?

But still you all waved high
His stupid Chinese-made hats;
Bought him gold and diamond studs
For his brand new fancy spats.
And now he’s in the Capitol
Laughing at all of you dolts
YOU gave him weapons to use on you
Instead of a thousand volts.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

I was the person meant to grow up
Finding these neighbors disgusting.
That was before all the questions I had
Of the vengeful God I was trusting.

But, I came to know that people
Must be more than what Sunday
And all the  hypocritical singing
Would claim them to be someday.

So I started learning what people
Do when they act and walk
Then tried to match those actions up
With how people behave and talk.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

Let The plastic hippies pretend
How mellow and tolerant they are
In their designer Levi cutoff shorts
And their carefully chosen used cars.

And expensive ****** and slinky pimps
Turn out to be much the same thing
They do what they do, get what they get
And all of it to please some great king.

Is that any different than praying in church
To invisible God they don't know?
Sneer if you wish and call it a sin
But I don't think that's how it should go.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

When I wiggle, wiggle wiggle,
People giggle, giggle, giggle.
In the middle, middle, middle,
I'm not so little, little, little.
When I jump, jump, jump,
My big old ****, ****, ****,
My rear end ****, ****, ****,
Goes bump, bump, bump.

Once skinny as a rail
I’m more like a whale.
Because of what I did
Ever since I was a kid.
Any old kind of candy
To me was simply dandy.
Follow me around and
I’d eat it by the pound.

Mom would bake, bake, bake.
By belly would shake, shake shake.
I couldn’t flounce, flounce, flounce
My gut would bounce, bounce, bounce.
Now I’m round, round, round,
To the ground, ground, ground.
I eat just like a pig, pig, pig,
That’s why I’m so big, big, big.

Once skinny as a rail
I’m more like a whale.
Because of what I did
Ever since I was a kid.
Any old kind of candy
To me was simply dandy.
Follow me around and
I’d eat it by the pound.

When some say diet, diet, diet,
I reply to them quiet, quiet, quiet.
Every time I try it, try it, try it.
My body doesn’t buy it, buy it, buy it.
So i just live for lunch, lunch, lunch.
I love to eat a bunch, bunch, bunch,
And I have a basic hunch, hunch, hunch,
The same will go for brunch, brunch, brunch!

Maybe after sighting
Each other buck naked
That ends the fighting
About whose is bigger
Or whose are real.
There ceases to be a trigger
Of envy, or competition,
As being clothes free
One is in no position
To hide behind frippery.

It is difficult to be snobbish
About your fabric and style
When all you are wearing
Is a sun hat and a smile.
Acting like you are a ****
Of taut body and shape
Wearing nothing but a sock
Makes you a target of japes
About getting over yourself
And maybe even getting real.
It really is that kind of situation;
That basic kind of reality deal.

Most of what is artificiality
Disappears when you’re ****.
It gets easier to face reality
And much harder to be rude.
We quickly see that we are
We are sisters and brothers
And we do not need to live
By rules of fathers and mothers.
They were taught to be afraid
Of body parts called ‘naughty bits’;
Words like ‘nasty’ and ‘stop that!’
You adults can say, ‘I want none of it.
I’m through with thinking my crotch
Is something evil, sick and twisted.
Take my genitalia out of the book
Where you have sinfulness listed.
I exist as nature has made me
And it is wrong of you to correct
The natural person as I was born
Being a ***** is just a side-effect
Of being raised by people who
Were never raised quite right.
Maybe if everyone were ****
That would end the need to fight.

It was supposed to be
The dawn of a new age;
A new set of dialogue
On a more balanced stage
With better lines for
The actors to deliver.
It was supposed to start in
The sixties and last forever.

We didn’t really know for sure
What this Aquarius stuff was
But it seemed to us to be
A metaphysical enough cause,
To change the way we acted
And to shout down the rest;
To face the demagogues
Then put them to the test.

We stopped wearing uniforms
That said we went along
With the hard-assed leaders.
We put a lot of it in our songs.
We called them what they were
Greedy warmongering ******.
We protested and picketed
And promised so much more.

We spoke out loudly on TV
And in crowds in the streets
That we were through will genocide
And would not accept defeat.
We cried out that our government
Had assumed the role of villain
And was murdering for no reason
Not just men, but even children.

But, we let it all die down;
We let the government slide
On investigating the truth
And keeping the truth inside
A carefully chosen batch of
Criminals in public office.
We let them go on making war
And making money off us.

We let them cheat and lie
And re-write acceptable laws
To support their bloodthirstiness
And we gave up on our cause.
Maybe all that protesting gave
All our marching feet limps.
Or maybe it’s because all along
We were just a bunch of wimps.

It rained all day that Tuesday
When Link McCoo hit town.
He checked into a rooming house
And began to look around.
He found the most run-down dive
And pulled himself a chair.
He took one look around to see
Who else was drinking there.

Nobody much noticed him
Except for Esther Masterson,
And she walked right over to him.
She knew she’d found herself a good one.
She asked him to buy her a drink
And he shook his head slowly no.
He said he wasn’t in the renting mood
So she might just as well go.

Esther like the way he looked
That he wasn’t to be a pushover.
She moved her chair next to him
And slyly told him, “Move over.”
She said, “I’m not a working girl
I own this stink-hole of a place.
So, being seen with the likes of me
Is not some kind of a disgrace.

That started them as something hot
Flame hot enough to set fire.
Nobody looking at the two of them
Could miss the heat of that desire.
Then, about a month later on,
Johnny Wacklin came back to stay
He and Esther were once a thing
And he was here to have his way.

But Esther had moved on by then
And told Johnny right up front.
Johnny paid no attention, said
“It don’t matter what you want.”
He grabbed her hand and dragged
Nearly taking her off her feet.
Link came in right about then
Knocked Johnny into his seat.

Link tucked Esther behind himself
And he warned Johnny not to try
Or he would be leaving there
With no time to say goodbye.
Johnny was always long on mean
But pretty much short on bright.
He figured he could whip Link
In a short but brutal fight.

So, they squared off and circled
And scowled for a few feet.
Link punched Johnny in the throat
And knocked him back into his seat.
Choking Johnny still attacked
So link kicked him in the knee.
He said “I don’t play slap and cry.
I don’t fool with those who attack me.”

Link and Esther have stayed there
As two knitted into just the one.
The bar has cleaned up clientele
And is a place for having fun.
Johnny Wacklin went away and
Spent some time in a clinic.
I can say he deserved what he got
Without being branded a cynic.

It’s New Year’s Eve!
Let’s get knee-walking plastered.
Don’t eat anything today,
It gets to your bloodstream faster.

It’s Saint Patty’s Day!
Let’s get ******* on green beer.
I’m Irish, so I am entitled, you see
And I won’t be again until next year.

It’s my birthday!
Let’s get plowed out of our minds.
Let’s drink everything in sight
And ***** every ***** we can find.

It’s Saturday night now!
Let’s do a bunch of beer bongs!
Anything that’s okay with my gang
It’s all good. It can’t be wrong.

It’s Fourth of July today!
Let’s have a picnic so we can drink.
But not fancy cocktails for me.
I don’t care for throwing up pink.

It’s Labor Day today!
Let’s do a chugalug contest today.
We’ll laugh at nothing at all
And drink the whole day away.

It’s a sporting event tailgate party!
Let’s get drunk together in a parking lot
And act like the teenagers we think
That we are when we really are not.

It’s Happy Hour! Hooray!
Let’s eat buffalo wings and imbibe
And hope the cop that stops us
Is okay with drunks or accepts a bribe.

It’s a bachelor party right now!
You don’t want to offend the host. Drink!
Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow
Well, it will be more sober than you think.

Nobody dances like my baby!
Others have a nice beat, maybe,
I love to go dancing with my baby
No, nobody dances like my baby.

Many times I tried to copy it
And watched others try too;
The movements are cool,
Seem an easy thing to do.
But the slides and steps
Are unique to one person.
Even in silhouette you see
There is no real confusion.

Nobody dances like my baby!
Others have a nice beat, maybe,
I love to go dancing with my baby
No, nobody dances like my baby.

It’s not something learned
In any classes for dance.
It’s something naturally acquired
By love and then by chance.
The beat starts to happen, it’s
What rhythm makes baby do.
Music moves through baby’s soul
And the body follows through.

Nobody dances like my baby!
Others have a nice beat, maybe,
I love to go dancing with my baby
No, nobody dances like my baby.

There is no home in my home town.
I try not to let it get me down.
There is no train on a homeward track.
There’s nothing there to call me back.
No love ever bid me stay in town.
No block back there is hallowed ground.
Nobody really asked me to go away
But nobody has missed since that day.

Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.

There are few good memories or ghosts
Just a long history of mysteries at most.
It wasn’t that people threw rocks at me
But there were no going away parties.
It was more like, “You’re leaving? Goodbye.”
A zip code full of staunchly dry eyes.
I don’t know what I expected it to be
But, that was not my choice for reality.

Home was never a place
I rushed back to at night
And even as a young kid
I was sure that wasn’t right.

I run through an inventory of events
And I did not betray any friends.
I didn’t steal or tell big lies
But didn't collect pals after may tries.
Something must have happened to me
That made me standoffish naturally
For people to not recall I was there.
So I left and then nobody much cared.

Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.

I try so hard to be loving
But there are a folks
That I just don’t like.
I mean it, no jokes.
They’re mean and nasty
And loudly unkind.
To like such people means
I would need to be blind
And deaf and mute and
Completely out of my head.
So, I think I’ll just go on
Disliking them instead.

I mean, what the heck?
I’m not all that spiritual.
It’s not like I am a very
Overtly saintly individual.
On a scale of one to ten
I’m probably an eight
And most of my neighbors
Aren’t even that great.
And it’s not really a contest
From the very beginning
So what sense is there
In working hard at winning?

Some believe in heaven
And others believe in hell.
Well, I know both of those
Two places very well.
I used to live in the Midwest;
‘******’ was a polite word.
Just about the nicest version
Ot that epithet I ever heard.
Where gays and Jews
Might just as well go die
Because all good Midwesterners
Would sneer as they went by.

Oh, and if you were a Christian
You had better be the right sect.
Don’t try to pass as godly
If you religion ever genuflects.
And don’t be a Democrat there
Because that is plainly wrong.
And marrying between races
Bubba beats your head like a gong.
I think it might be better
For me to just be who I am.
Trying to act like a Republican
Just gets me into a big jam.

I don’t want to go to heaven
If hypocrites get to go there.
I’d get thrown right out
I’d knock them off the stair.
Of course, if they get in
That means something is awry.
So, maybe Saint Peter
Had better just pass me by.
Anyway, I sort of found heaven
In a chocolate cheesecake.
Just leave me alone with one.
That’s about all it takes.

It always makes me wake up when it hits;
When a rivulet of sweat runs between my ****.
I wake up thinking some bug is walking there
Because it tickles my manly bit of chest hair.
Guys are built much different than the rest.
We are not supposed to have issues with our chest.
But here I am trying to get some sleep
Suddenly aware my cleavage is too deep.

Stuff is happening backwards that should not
What we supposed to do with this mess we’ve got?
Something’s got the world all upside down.
God must be a freaky circus clown.
Regardless of some nasty radio rants
I have no problem with women wearing pants.
And in life today as I have always seen
The woman is often the boss, big and mean.

And I have heard, in current affairs and state
That men can even, in time, learn to lactate.
But this one situation in which I have *******
Threatens to unhinge and drive me a bit loopy.
I guess, with time, I will someday get accustomed.
And I know some old ideas need to be jettisoned.
But I never expected that this would be a year
For me to go get fitted for an absorbent brassiere.