A man came into my life by lies, though all he said was true,
and by an art unabused turned sable curtains blue;
by closing out all the books of debt,
He opened those that gave me endless credit.
His mask disclosed a face thought hidden,
and spurning called, so I was ironically bidden;
a desperado calm and quiet,
setting off a messless riot--
no candle snuffed,
no cattail end like pillow fluffed--
Among the twelve with millions stood I,
considering all the consequences and, "Would I?"
Ambivalence was a neutral evil,
until love took sides...mine.
Ah, but what the hell, I'll die in any event,
and no charm or charity of mine a God-damned wrath can appease or prevent;
thus with apostolic zeal and cigarette smoke I give sotto voice to what is Rachel Maddow's grief and delusion,
that God with sin in spirit made flesh is guilty of collusion,
to remedy a wound that's festered and put to song,
to make a right of all offense--by queer and straight--of every good that's wrong.
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