I met a man
who lived by politics
and he was always right
he woke up in the dark each morning
blinded by the light
he drug around
the stench of doom
and his heart was such a husk
he said: "you can't match
my personal perfume, baby
you can't trump my musk"
and every time his heroes won
he thought he'd find me weeping
but I just wasn't born to be
the poor loser he was seeking
you see, I've never voted
for someone that I worshiped
never cheered the left or jeered the right
or somehow mourned the middle
(I take heart in the individual)
'cause the crowd
can't tell no story
the mob can't make no memory
and the mass of human experience
(doesn't need me)
to make the line
between heartless
and hopeless
more
blurry
~ ~ ~
February 6, 2025
Delaps Cove, Nova Scotia
Year 18, Day 6297 of my daily journal.
