(i want it so bad, but, baby)
(i need it so badly, too)

Love sweet nothings turn to syrup.
I can't hear the wind through window.
The ants love me, want me for food.
Tell me how: how is that not you?

You're right, it's nice getting something
                                 for nothing.
Let me tell you right now:
                      In my age
I've learned to love
       a better way.

  No free sample
       Lifetime return
              Free exchange
                   That's the way,
                       the buy sell trade.

It's been heard I'm adequate with words
If only they knew,
they knew less
than the full
story

It's been said I'm blithe, articulate
I'm pleasant at that
That I have
and want not's
compensatory
transitory

In the end, I'm worth forlorn words, no more
In the end, my has-been charm goes dead weight
In the end, I'm your additive to the dull days
In the end, my gains come from a snake's tongue

In the end,
I'm nothing
but words
for reading

black lies
on the white light
of a flat screen

In the end,
I've nothing
but words
beneath me
beneath me

Beneath me twists and turns the caverns where my heart grows.
I call it art to your face, when I'm a broker by trade.
You won't know that you trade, you won't see that I sell myself.
You won't feel the hidden strings on your cervical
spine until you've given your food, four walls, window and door,
given your love to a dead duck scanning for escape.

A wayfarer gardens
and yeaning wake his soul
on this Market Square
still he shops and sleeps
where his abode is nigh  
and their goods are cheap
like his barbecued cecils
now such gazes he's met
that fires their clement  
if City Hall landslide elects again.

He is a crazy but lad that yearns
to raise a seance that resonates
deeply in his heart where his past
with a lariat are in his throes again
yet he's ultimately commanded
his dire inspiration in plaid
that molasses is strewn in rope
as his primary experience
and desires catapult in spirit  
though with his lips of wine weep
in blood but still by political lines
why in heaven butters his bread
and easily tie his stead again
that weld his guile forthwith a tape
where vespers have borne even law
backing sustenance upon decree
that rudder his existence along borders in trades

an angry artist wouldn't trade his inkling
for another tattoo but an ape has witnessed
a dire death formula in parlor of lies
that skins their teeth to wetness this endless summer  
as such demise in latitude will vaporize her longing
still surmised a fatherly club with a choke hold

They say:
"You get what you've given."
but I'm afraid that's not true:

As you have all of me
And I have none of you.