a libertine nutcase doing exactly what he wants to do
breaking things that need to be broken
getting paid for it, getting laid
drugging, drinking and mutating the scenery
until he pulls his own plug
seems like a golden shore
when you're "commuting" to "work"
and dragging "home" for "dinner"

we shared manhattan
me partying in fetid basements
you dancing on skyscrapers
magic is a mild word
it’s a miracle we’re alive
so let’s hook up one more time
i’ll meet you at midnight
on the tip of the empire state building

i could brag about my night
but to who?
what sentient being is epicurean enough
to appreciate my palate?
cosmopolitan enough
to follow my exploration?
who has mastered the physics
to dig my trajectory?
there’s only one
back to the mirror!

you can’t come out ahead
not with death picking your pocket
on your way out the door
but maybe you can balance the equation
reconcile the molecular weight
of the positive and negative
like the moon tonight
it’s a perfect glowing circle
the moon is a balanced equation
your life can be the same
if the wind blows your way

by that measure
this year was a mindblower

if there’s a perfect segment of your life
put it on the wall
and charge yourself admission
like i’m doing right now
i straddle the planet
and scoff at my helpless emotion
i scrape up any tears i cried
spit them at passing airplanes
and balance the astonishing equation

it works

some artists are genres in themselves
like Dr. John
when hacks replicate them for profit
Monkees vs. Beatles
Beastie Boys vs. all of hip hop
sometimes they strike gold
they’re playing the fun parts
distilling the hooks that work best
making them better than the real thing
sometimes phony wins

there’s no escape
from exploitation
all that you eat
animal or vegetable
was alive
trying to survive
that fire you make
the wood was a tree
buoyantly breathing
the virus reproducing in you
just wants to thrive
you vs. it
a zero sum game

today i want to play my harpsichord
and i have to clean the gutters
why wouldn’t i play the harpsichord first?
we all know the planet’s in bad shape
what if the world ends at noon
and i cleaned the gutters
and didn’t play the harpsichord?
tragedy