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In the age of salt on the counter.
In the warlord era of one thing or another.
I was loose enough to let you have it,
half joking, half threatening
something about backing the blue of my habits.
You tried your best to equal my opposite.
It’s the glimpse of heaven that keeps the fool on the errand.
You said there’s salt everywhere, even in the cabinets
and I want to say it now clearly: thank you for it.
The city died and everyone said to keep it weird.
In my awesome costume I came in second place unopposed.
Got paid for looking at pictures of coworkers’ dogs.
I was failing no one.
And there’s a pill for what I do
and I do it anyways,
combing my hair with a metal detector
when I lose something at the beach.
When I saw you again, with all the rainbow in the oil puddle,
you said time is measured by what you call it.
This became the logic in the oh no of everything.
This became a friend to me.
I saw I was the master of a domain I forgot to renew.
It was a blessing, too.
Because I’m a creature of advanced horniness.
I love whoever drops the piano on me.
I know enough to trust the child of my heart
and I share the same root of all evil
(ask him his favorite player and he’ll say DraftKings.)
