I’m not afraid to speak plainly and truthfully to you, although I am intermittently anxious about extending myself the same courtesy. Thus did

the powers that be leave me here
to do all the thinking
t/here, on the screen

a man with a dream, or what used to look like one;
like anyone who ever had
a heart. I never seen you looking so bad, my V1. You tell me that your superfinemind has come undone.

Slow, easy
unhand that gun begone
set it down on the skycryin’ table
Do it for me or the sake of old times. (alternative euro-breathy femvox interp) yeah i’m fine rather than the usual superfine is all ennit kathleen
can you still hear me babe

***

Well i’ve been out walking, and that’s mostly a lie, these days. Sheltering in stead home from the powder and the finger.

Truth is I don’t care anymore (how you run around) don’t care anymore
about who is good and right and who was bad and wrong.

This isn’t depression I am though deathly sick on the subject
on more levels than I can even count, including the political and the emotional and the spiritual and

The people on the street have all seen better times, you know, and it is no different right here. (Look out Mama there’s a white boat comin’ down the river)

But I am grateful to you even so for being the only one willing to engage with what I said in some way deeper than a god-damnable emoticon and
It don’t look like they’re here to deliver the mail

***

The shit continues to pile high against your guy and your dames, agencies, framing, but when I say I’m sick of it I also mean that I am sick of straining to prove myself any better. Have you forgotten so soon that I neither know nor think that I know?

That something knocked us both out the trees, my loves?

I only despair at times that you go on and on so frivolously
celebrating that very something and thinking that somehow if you’re pert and sassy and rich and blue enough, if you wave their flag hard enough, that you’ll soon be sitting right back on the best branch and pissing from the heights onto his fake orange head.

You simply won’t. Not ever.

The piss will only end up in your very own hair because

We are not back in the trees and we never again will be.

So: I am dressed now in mourning black for that fact and the others …

So: sometimes your facile hiphooraying at the funeral over another stupid counterproductive feces log of lawfare or saving a democracy that’s been moldering in the ground for years flies in the face of reality and really gets on what’s left of my last nerve.

I shouldn’t let it. I shouldn’t let you.

I know that very well, rationally, and somehow knowing it always ends up making the whole situation just a little bit worse for me.

The vairtere is one cracked flawed angel and sometimes the only thing that lets him go on when the demon is at the door is in the cool of the morning it won’t be there no more.

As any major dude
Would tell you.