LADY GODIVA: The Naked Truth

You approached the middle of a crisis   like a pissed off drunken Pisces   I’m the city you only ever  drive right on through. But the time has come to pass  where we’re all running out of gas  & the cell signal and triple A  just both won’t come through. I will never understand  the empty ring finger on my hand or why my life’s been an endless white water rapids drive through  They say you know when you know  & that you reap just what you sow  Surly, I wish, that you had knew. Because the shadows they grow long  across an unloved lawn  that should have been  mowed  over a week ago.  I told the cops about the hole behind your bedroom door  and that it’s funny that they had phoned. Because I don’t want this imposter, this wife on loan, to call me  anymore  I don’t want to eat her dinner and I don’t want her to eat mine,  there’s no place for my placemat anyways.  It’s not so much my patience  we’re just all running out of time  I’m tired of being optional  I’m tired of being alo

I didn’t watch this all yet but I will say.  That the chicken coups catching on fire is excessive.  The numbers of chickens dying due to the fires seems to be vastly unreported and the price increases on eggs and wings seems to be proof enough of that. Train derailments do just happen from time and the over-reporting on them could be psych ops.  In fact, I think most of what we experience in life is a type if psych ops.  Too many times decision making of the few. Titians of industry, who are never VOTED into office, have the power to impact the lives of many.  I’m not sure if in my lifetime it will ever be fully grasped what lobbyists have truly done to us.  The efforts of the car, asphalt, concrete, cigarette, and alcohol industries should be plainly seen by us all.  Anxiety could’ve easily been constantly induced by such individuals as it’s a well known fact that when anxious humans engage in all sorts of unhealthy destructive behaviors like smoking too much, drinking too much, eatin

Sometimes I get lonesome but then I remember… your smoking of cigarettes well past December.   All of your premature ejects.   All of your pathological projects.  Chemicals as scents. How you don’t repent at Lent, familiarity as leisurely bred contempt.  When you tell me where you were, still wonder where you went.  All that money was better spent, and yet you still sent for her? Despicable with a diploma.  Murderous over a GED.   She always asks for a ride and a buck thirty-five,  it was the way she wore a maxi  that devolved you to taxi  and we competed for a Medusa heart.   He hated how I coughed and how she didn’t fart.   So I think I’ll skip the romance, I get more love from my art.