It Is June. I Am Tired Of

Meanwhile In My Head, I’m Undergoing Open-heart Surgery.

Home Is My Bethlehem, My Succoring Shelter, My Mental Hospital, My Wife, My Dam, My Husband, My Sir, My Womb, My Skull.

There Is Hope. There Is Hope Everywhere. Today God Give Milk And I Have The Pail.

I Want To Kiss God On His Nose And Watch Him Sneeze And So Do You. Not Out Of Disrespect. Out Of Pique. Out Of A Man-to-man Thing.

When They Turn The Sun On Again I'll Plant Children Under It, I'll Light Up My Soul With A Match And Let It Sing.