I'm gonna tell you something. Wait right there,
Tony calls out to me inside my head.
We're gonna say, hocus pocus, No fear!
Or, we might say, you're an actor, instead.
Tony's an interchangeable Tony,
part of a pack of dogs or Tarot cards
who terrorize my days and nights. Phony
Little Caesars above the Law. Retards.
The disembodied soul of selfishness
is everywhere on display these end days,
making up bizarre stories, playing chess,
zapping with directed energy rays.
I want to be quiet and watch the fires dim.
I get Dylan Thomas, I do. F*ck him.
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