enter stage right.
context: somewhere at night.
anyway, she’s in sight
and by design, i’m uptight
(but don't do that)
i can’t just discipline what forges my complexion.
(that just sounds weak)
she’ll be savvy to all my goddamn imperfections.
(she doesn't know you)
her capacity to smell my pettiness has been honed.
(what does that mean?)
alright, cue
the rhythm
section,
smell
my breath,
and take
my phone.
(yo! drum and bass)
let’s fudge together our infernal regions!
i debut my joke about jews
but some lush bitches illegibly shout a tune,
keeping the punch line from even kind of breaking through
into her awareness of my wittiness misconstrued
as some unwarranted confession
of a jewish heritage that isn’t my own.
well, I can’t talk to women.
shit, I thought you were supposed to drink cologne.
tell
me how to
be the epitome
of the artificial playboy
who will never really enjoy
the marrow of your being
or anything you find freeing.
the synthetic lady-killer
who calls his d**k “god’s driller”.
unloads it in your face,
returning to his state of grace.
or the plastic rad kid,
the one who does what dad did.
“i’m a product of my environment.
that’s why i put weird drugs in your drink.”
to the unnatural phonies
who get turned up with their cronies.
then beat the fuck from beauty,
i’m just a lover, not a pu**y.