I’m Pulp Again

repeat
and
repeat
Papa, George,
it’s simple:

drinks with Seneca
and
looking for answers
and
watching the sun rise after
a night without sleep

I pick up the shit
and
repeat
tomorrow
and
yester of day

and
one day it changes

and
then I am God

and
God, I am dead

organic eggs
and
buttered jam muffins

I wish for not nothing
but every thing

so
I Google a piece
of feeling a love
and
a box filled with air
arrives the same day

and
I look for face
inside of this place
but
the tabs on the tap
so
let’s run it right back

and
repeat
and
repeat
and
repeat

and