Written by Dillon Droege
Don’t talk to me
Before I’ve had my morning dexedrine
Last night, I had a long dream
I was on a jet ski
Saving my drowning colleagues
Three by three
Like if Catcher in the Rye were set in Jacksonville
Or inland Tennessee
I’ve got: two tickets to Paradise
Oh great, a middle and an aisle seat
Lucky me!
I’ve been ratfucked. And on the first day
of Eid.
Nonetheless my spiritus remains high
High! High! High!
I had a life of Promise and Wonder
and I let it all pass by
But at least I was high. High high.
I took a walk into the marsh
with
Anne of Green Goebbels at my side
She was a heather-haired Nazi witch
And in the twilit morning there
She gave me a morning kiss
What a hex. What a joke. What a jinx.
Don’t talk to me until I’ve wiped the crime scene clean
Last night I had a dream
That all men were created equal-
It was obscene
I see you there God, doing a looky-loo
From behind your Geisha fan
Can I ask you something personal?
Or is this too forward, man?
I wonder
Oh I wonder if
This was all part of The Plan
My aunt’s got mesothelioma
My uncle’s got himself a Reddit ban
Last night I caused a scene
I dressed a senator in a plastic vest of RDX
and TNT
Lordy, lordy
You’d have thunk I raped the Queen
Don’t talk to me until I’ve aced the eightfold path
Snuffed out my inner wrath
Hid my secret stash
Exchanged my gold for cash
Called my Nazi girlfriend back
Set my spine in whack
Relapsed
Niết bàn
My dad spent some time in country there; he caught a little flak
Me and my Nazi wife we’re moving west
To rest, undress, reset
To spend some time alone
Where guns and bison roam
Out to the radio Redlands; where a house is still a house is still a home
The manosphere, the Iron Dome
Right hand a few feet from the chrome
And we
Take a pill
Scribble out our will
Shoot to kill
Say a thank you to Saint Isidore
The godhead of Seville
There, on the pitched edge of old country, chain lightning and a pack of Andalusian stallions bolting from their pen, a high yellow color in the hot electric night; in sackcloth and cords and capirotes we flood onto the plain
Don’t talk to me until I’ve gone insane
Until I’ve put this bullet in my brain
Until I’ve said auf wiedersehen
I lay to rest now
My wicked little wife
Let us drink black balsam in honor of her
Abhorrent fucking life
I’m so lonesome I could die
I’m high I’m high I’m high
I tiptoe down the blazing tract between psychosis ‘n’ peace of mind
And somewhere there’s a snowmelt river
Blooming morning on the Rhine
Tipple of lemon sunshine
Purity, I call her, come to me, unwind
And somewhere else NARAKA – bone cage of the sublime
I crafted mirror versions of myself there
So that the pain could multiply
Across my schizoid spine
Across the Gross und Klein
Across both space and time
I lost myself
I’m fine
Text © Dillon Droege
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