in this so called nation
we find our station
without hesitation
safely on the reservation
of your man made starvation
no grapes of wrath lactation
for old man’s libation
just a pure sensation
of your obligation
to this so called nation

a dutiful observation
without abbreviation
or scientific notation
or speculation
of the specification
and the unification
and the unionization
of this confederation
of this westernization
of this so called nation

there is no graydation
no obfuscation
no elongation
no generalization
no emancipation
(yeah, take that as a proclamation)
or any specialization
of the surgical operation
of the suspended animation
of the standard deviation, the stalin-ization, the standardization, standing ovation, sterilization, subordination, substantiation, suburbanization, symbolic representation, sympathetic vibration, synchronization, tabloidization, telecommunication, cellphone conversation, television station, television station, television station….

of this so called nation

wet like raindrops

like the rain that drops the raindrops

so wet

like heaven’s sweat

so wet

so wet on me

so why am i out in that rain?

o that song

about raindrops

or the rain that drops

that song where my head is fallen upon by rain drops

o that song – what’s that song

o i can’t remember the lyrics

raindrops continue to head down onto my head

o i can’t remember

i’m wet like a noodle

from this rain

i’m wet like a fish

from this rain

i’m wet like an ice cube left on the counter this morning and now the second law of thermodynamics has caused it to return to a liquid state

from this rain

i’m wet like the counter

hey who left this icecube here

or was it just a water spill

wow, i hope we don’t have a leak

there’s a cake

that’t what it is

someone left the cake out in the rain

that’s the song

no it’s not

raindrops

i’m wet like raindrops

i mean, from raindops

i mean, like, a lot of them

You you you

And really it’s all you

And really it’s not me

Because it’s really you

It’s you

Who who who

Told me about the birds

Taught me about the bees

Took me behind the trees

All flew

Away away away

Never to return

Never to overturn

Never to U-turn

Never did you turn

To return

To the cistern

Of the sister

And the Mr.

In the mist, or

The frisbee disc-er

Golf golf golf

That you never taught me how to play

And I keep throwing saucers

Like

Cats dishes

Soured with Milk

To a horribly disfigured chainlink basket that is

You

You

You

My truck is so big
My truck is bigger than your truck
Louder than your truck
Tougher than yours, too, so get out of my way

My truck hauls ass
Eats gas
Smokes grass

Its so high up you need a ladder to climb in…
I mean, you do; I don’t
My truck is in front of you
So you can see

My truck has steel testicles
Hanging from the rear bumper
Well, actually the tow bar, but I alway say bumper
The point is, what I’m saying is, is that my truck has balls

My truck is a Ford
My truck is my Lord
My truck is an F-U-250

Behind the cobwebs of your soul
There
Is
A
Rainbow
Inside everyone’s one special one
And
Inside of that
Is
Gold

Somewhere where wearing wares wears-you-out
Like watching, until you give in to,
That commercial from Czechoslovakia that buys gold
Through the mail (illegal)
And sends money (illegal)
Through the mail (illegal)
So, a check’s in the mail from a Czech who’s in jail

Then, slowly, ever so slowly, like sucking up
The Cobwebs
From
The
Big
House
Of
Your
Soul
With
A
Slovak with a slow vac