The men with their pens

In a scribbling fury again

‘I possess three states of being

Ketamine, cayenne or zen’

-

The mosaic of eyes are clinical

These ones peacock green and biblical

Wanting to offer me salvation in capsule form

Abilify, rispideral

-

They’re here to clean house

By examining the houses in which I’ve lived

And the houses I’ve built in myself

They always miss a spot

-

Find your fissure, Mr.

The smudge in the criteria

I’m inside all the textbooks on the hysterically misbehaved

Which renders me less observant and inferior

-

‘Sexual appetite can only be inherited

If it fits a categorical narrative’

Everyone has to trust you

All of your colleges are accredited

-

You are transparent as a senator

Sitting through your seminars

Till you’re convinced that you’re more

Than a suffering-mind’s janitor

-

This is just how I’m designed

I’m on my ninth cloud and ninth life

And bringing myself up

I’m fine, fine, fine.