Well if there was a true kingdom
then it has since turned to dust
and made me sneeze into my sleeve
a thousand battles and speeches
spewed on my shirt.
He knew that things were looking up
when the apes started singing and painting and dancing and talking
no more the organic moving thing
but now a creative entity a human being
perhaps. And then came the insurance salesman.
I don’t know what’s going on
all lost in this happy mist
awake and aloft in terminal confusion
but accepting and banal in hasty unrecognized feeling
crawling under the belly of the absolute.
My thyroid gland hated itself.
So what to do, can I get a therapist?
I gave it a pill and it felt better about itself
the days stopped being so leaden
and the guillotine stopped in its course.
What in the world do you want?
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