Your senses don’t make sense.
Things disappear and re-appear.
Or is it the other way round?
Your things precede ain’t sound.
In the old days I informed.
You listened and conformed.
Now it’s different. I’m a must.
I tell you go board that bus!
It makes you accept your job
Just a bus. A means to the end.
If you want to hobnob
then board that bus and bend.
To that opening in your field.
But first you have to yield.
You’ve sized the field up.
You ain’t my over-grown pup!
Where was such words as “momentum”?
What I did for you was a continuum.
Then Fig Newtons came along.
You kept chompin’ fat to that song.
You tell me I’m too obvious.
A continuum that don’t make sense.
But Lord you’re too damn oblivious.
Start paying me the rent.
Get your ass in gear
like your sister and brother.
That sperm and egg had nothing to fear.
I was both your mother and father.
Except you sleep around.
You have no momentum.
Seeds you throw all over town
nary has the option.
It’s obvious. Pay the rent.
Your space tweren’t heaven-sent.
You’re not Job. You can’t hobnob.
Go out and take that job!
I’m sorry for giving you the word.
You really ain’t a turd.
I expect more from you.
than fuckin around and poopoo.