what it's gonna say on my Welcome Mat (when i find my home)

i'm vomiting up your sunny day
i'm stripping your bmw i'm sticking my finger
too close to your face
i'm giving all the lap-dancers scholarships
i'm making you greedy perverts go back to grammar school
i have no choice but to tune in, turn on, and stop, drop, fallout.

we pay of thee, commanders, funeral-home directors.
keep moving, keep the veins on a life-spool
check your pulse, are you still?
someone convince me.

preparations, provisions, support and trust
tyrrany and lust
perversion or bust

READ MY BUMPERSTICKER: WE CAN NO LONGER AFFORD TO BE LITTLE KINGS!

WE CAN NO LONGER AFFORD TO BE LITTLE KINGS!!

give it up, either way your shit's gonna be burned to the ground!
it's never coming back to us, not this time around
we're the ones again, the ones that they will lose track of
when it comes right down to
casualty children being raised by ghosts
arms and legs and new uniforms and
Calvin Klein Combat Collection
to Old Navy Prosthetic Limb commercials


now.

you see where i'm at.
Little Kings. (we never moved beyond indentured servitude anyway.)

Little Kings, you know
the guys with the Better CD Collection than You
the gals who shake it hard and don't know why
your boss who doesn't give a shit
my neighbor who has a yellow ribbon on her car but turns out her
porch light when she sees my crippled mother falling down the stairs
next door

there's no such thing as neighborly behavior. get away from me.
this is the coming-of-age movie that you have to see:
this is where context burns
this is why i'm on fire.
this is why nobody can sleep and the only ones dancing are
drunk on dollar-nectar
Little Kings with your knightstick-scepter

...pause for medication....[elevator music]

(gulp)

(hoists self back on 40-story soapbox)....ooof..

what happened, about 30 seconds ago i liked my voice
see, i was a gangsta-rapper, i had great bright colors on, and i
kept it real, and i had my root down--

i was america, i am america, sometimes.

chances are, if you met me you wouldn't remember.
sometimes i'm this girl
that takes it in
double-chin
accoustic guitar, missing things
and people
and wandering
and making herself
at home.

chances are you've seen this girl and
told her she was crazy or
it was her fat ass that broke the chair
or
Lord, what's happened to this town
when we can't protect it from little kikes
ridin' bikes
on welfare?

*sigh* (my god i'm so alone all i want to do is love my god i'm so alone why do i have to do this why can't i stop my god i'm so alone

they're all gonna laugh at you!)

*lol*


that girls swinging out of view now
she gots a u-haul, she gots a padded cell now
don't feel sorry for her because she doesn't understand why she
believes in love

i pray to huge Queen Esther between worlds
between planets
huge, crying Queen raining on us
standing on us
afraid to move b/c she's killing more of us
can't fly away because she's stuck to the linoleum
staring an electric eye
that's on mute.


this is what it says on MY welcome mat.
home is what it is, it's who and how it is, it's not
where.
my dad never came home, did yours?
my breath stinks of agent orange
my blood is fortified with cheap reefer and years of monsoons
i liked that rock n' roll shit when
i was in the womb.

one time (if you even care)
one time, someone was really there
he found me b/c i hung my bright purple shirt outside
and i lit a candle, and put his music on.
and as he sang to me, we drew pictures
we said "fuck this war"
we said "let's get high!"
and we did.


sincerely,

Blanche DuBois of the mid-atlantic
Little Orphan Annie of the 21st Aerosquadron Restaurant
skeletons, skeletons, skeletons
mommyanddaddy
MC Heeby
Hangon Sloopy Sloopy Hangon
Lots of Loud Noises, followed by an unending silence excluding the sound of the chance encounter of one carbon mollecule rubbing against another,
amen.