Is not a test or a game
or an experiment,
it's an inevitability.

Don't want to play?
Too bad, you don't have a choice.

Fix it. I can't fix it.
Fix it. I can't fix it.
Fix it. I can't fix it.

I can't fix it.

After the editor
dissected my manuscript
with a sharp red pencil,
he handed it back
and I said, "you killed it,"
to which he replied,
"it was already dead."

Because I can never be honest,
I cannot write my memoirs.
I cannot stain the pages with the truth.
I can only tell lies.

Yeah, there's a mime,
a sad clown and, at the end,
the lingering shot
of a balloon, string trailing,
floating skyward until
it's a mere speck on the horizon.

But really it's about ***.
It's always about ***
and the pseudo-intellectual B.S.
you've come to expect.

Still, I've seen worse.

Newly crowned and she's
already looking forward
to growing old and ugly
so she can reflect back
and remember how it was
to be young and beautiful

You're only a coward
if you crap your pants before
they hang you

A spare, not an heir,
you are the back-up plan,
an afterthought, a contingency.

Get used to it.