I took the road less traveled
and found the bones of kings
trending on Twitter.
Who is there is not a flash mob
armed with glitter bombs.
This is no trick or treat.
It is a brutal wipeout aimed at your skull,
a seven nation army of despots
and I walk the line.
Ring of fire?
Bitch, please.
It is no song—
it is a plank to the heavens
in a dream within
a late night fever.
I saw the seraphim doing
coke off toilets and
playing "Niggas in Paris"
on their harps.
This is life after death
when death looks like a Kardashian.
You will be spread like
margarine until you melt
and you are not even butter.
I took the road more traveled
and it led me to God.
He sat high on a cloud
drinking 40's with Kanye
and auto-tuning a choir of angels.
You know God goes gorillas.
He started that shit
and Kanye is just in on the joke.
And really,
fuck you, Martin.
The Holocaust was real and
even TMZ knows Hitler did it for the ratings.
If the revolution was televised
the commercials would be epic.
I counted to ten then I punched the wall.
I counted to twenty and took another shot.
I reached inside my liver and found
the Archimedean point from which I could
move the whole universe.
It lay in agony between the vodka and
life's hidden meaning.
It said, "Snap, crackle, pop, bitch!"
and bitch-slapped me in the face.
I moved the universe one inch
to bring me one step closer to you.
I found the still point of the turning world
and hung myself by its branches.
I am a pinata.
Swing low, sweet chariot.
Swing away.
