circle A

don't call it anarchy    
because it's not the statehouse at stake    
it's reality    
   
and I love you enough    
to write amorous poems    
about improvised explosives    
because these barriers have to go    
   
and so does that Starbucks    
let's get lost in metaphor    
   
scrape the soapflakes    
i'll get the kerosene    
lick this toads' belly    
i'll pound the rhythm of rhapsody    
into every blank canvas    
so every painting made    
is an homage to infidelity.    
   
See, this marriage ain't working    
I have been fucking around with your friend Freedom    
and her friend Absolute    
and sure, shit can get a bit hectic    
but it's well worth it    
   
Ain't not no morning goes by    
I don't get my dick wet