wouldn't tell the government this;
but i've been having fun lately
dancing and getting tired but i keep going.
and sitting in positions with no perfection.
an ever lasting sense of becoming,
not quite being.
this can be admitted and attributed to the regeneration cycles of experience.
i've always joked that i hate the future
and so if i can better deal with this lack of being
but boost in becoming's 'statline' or 'titsize'
whatever the too-much-tube i watch says
and yeah still picking my spots and having no dates
but quietly liking some of it
and dealing with less @
but also less @nxiety and @nger
and some of what i says come true
words: where existence goes to die
or be like that cat
or some other thing i never thought of
so don't tell the gubna
don't tell the mayor or john mayer
don't Dispatch to the Post
don't tell them, the they in my mythos, my those
now promise you won't
i smiled today and she wasn't here
no one was
just me and what?, a few scattered voices
mostly people i don't know and mine
cooked bison bacon i acquired at the market
and kale i paid for on jay nixon's tab
the birds is chirpin in rhythm with the stereo
so please, call it what it ain't
just don't tell on me to the law man
and don't tell the gossip at the coffee shop
don't let that doggone gubna know nuffin!
i exist, you exist
let's keep it that way.