DOUBLE FEATURE TORMENT
I can't keep all of this bubbling
up inside of me until it bursts :
the natural death of the farmer
takes over. All these very strange
words. But I will say what I want,
when. Especially in the nuthouse.
There's a ken to my family tree
that wobbles sideways, and runs
off. That's where I execute my
pirouette; I am an alien line,
having come from some other
place. Extemporaneous. Real.
Have the magistrate cancel the
election; not worth a damn, and
these people will all be dead by
then - as they now already are.
Let the dead vote for the dead.
Or however that's said.