I rule the Principality of Randolph and no other
I stand unshackled by political thought and the misdirection of my fathers
I've no tolerance for the panicked Gen X , Y nor Z enlightened , for I
glow vividly in the darkened apparatus of my own tinkering mind as well
I hold a book of Sandburg poetry with my right hand ,
a mattock in the left , the hefty chain of truth around
my neck , a Cherokee rose in a left pocket , a revolver in the right
I am a firm believer in the barbed wire cattle fence , bone chilling
November front porch mornings with black coffee and biscuit
The call of an Iron Bell , the clear ringing notes of mournful Dove , watchful Crow and story filled Whippoorwill* ...

Go ride the mountain,
Stand atop its highest tiers.
No words as witness.

The things some do
When they're alone,
Would melt the marrow
In your bones.

Some scratch their ***
With such vigor,
Sink to their knuckles
Up their nose,
**** themselves
In *****-hose,
Find their stash,
Find their liquor,
Get high alone,
And that's good for some.

Oh, the things some do
When they're alone.

They scrape the goo
From their eyes
In the afternoon;
Hork out phlegm
In the kitchen sink,
**** loudly,
And not think it stinks.
They pop a pimple on the mirror,
Do nasty things
(I won't say liver).

Oh, the things some do
When they're alone.

They'll surf the net
For *******
In HD or photography.
They'll roll gobs of wax
From both their ears,
Run naked up and down the stairs.
Landscape private body hairs,
And like a monkey, smell their nails.

Oh, the things some do
When they're alone.

Some deficate in the shower,
******* until they holler,
Then spark a doob,
Check out the mirror,
Then cogitate on tomorrow.

Oh, the things some do
When they're alone,
It's good they're done
Alone at home.