From the Ending

I’ve said something that’s been said
but not said in the same way.
Is it so important that I’m unique
or as bleak as Beckett on a summer day?
Do I give a damn what you had for breakfast?
If it matched the sky when I puked?
Tell me how to live my life as a pure soul
or create a rainbow out of certain side effects.
Or where to stand for different affects.
I ‘m a prism. Were not you? 
Tell me how to gain immortal life
or listen to a door slam in my face.
If I choose I still must remember
honeysuckle on the vine, a stye in a pig’s eye,
or a bunch of fantastic numbers out in space
that I believe in for who knows why.
Gather the facts and I’ll kiss you because
you’re built like a brick shithouse
and I was raised to accompany beauty
wherever and whenever it appears.
Step outside and say that again and
I’ll poke you in the pork chops.
The best thing to do is join a group
that is mildly profound to get attention.
Something to do with nudity:
the bare necessity of life or death,
both at the same time or
twice on Sundays. Now get hold of yourself with
math and logic and die a reasonable death.
Quiet! I’m listening!
Oh Lord, save me from myself!
Straighten me out!
Then do what
I want you to do
Forever
In the company of
everybody
including
such things as
You!