I’m mad
Mad at recliner radicals in Kevlar flannels Mad at dingbat liberals in looping shitcurls Mad at whitecore trads and blackout separatist dads Mad at my puckered up buttercup Mad at GMO CEOs Mad at a clock that spells disaster every time I check it… fuck that thing. Mad bout plastic induced estrogen Mad at spotty, old white men… fuck ‘em Choice A sucks… so does choice B. But, that’s all there is to choose from as you can see- unless we’re taking about hamburgers or screens- then you’ve got hundreds of choices from Jelloway to Aberdeen Mad about aluminum rain Strontium pain And wasted grain left to rot in the field because waste mitigation was never really part of the capitalist acumen Mad at Visa and Bank of America for turning me out like a battered cunt They’ll keep pounding me out til I’m tender enough to feed to pigs Speaking of pigs, I got a bone to pick with a large man in charge… Body like a barge… Please pass the marge-ahhhreeeen It’s made from the same stuff as household adhesives You know what really curdles my girdle? Skim milk! You know what invariably clots my slots? Rappers in kilts! You know what ultimately riles my piles? Urban saggers! You know what truly goads my choad? Slow ass baggers!

I swallow my anger. At least until I can recklessly, fecklessly vent it on the roadways, behind the wheel of a two ton machine that pisses me off more than most every other machine other than a screen I’m mad at drivers, nesters and hivers My middle finger gets as much exercise as my gums but a lot less than my brain or legs Mostly, I’m mad at you For ever acting like you cared about my rage, about this cage, about my own wasted life written on this page In case you haven’t noticed, I’m mad