I am not rich enough
to own my soul.
I rent from Beelzebub

who rules my inner heart like a

slum lord.

My body is infested with cockroaches

and the toilet won’t flush.

The carpet smells of old urine

and the roof leaks like a constant

irritation

on my impoverished character.

He charges too much,

but I gladly pay.

There’s no way in hell

I’ll accept the charity of Jehovah God

who rents his mansions

for free.

There’s just no dignity

living in fresh palaces

at those prices.

I have my pride.

I just wish my house didn’t stink

like rotten meat!

Physical Borg

8-4-1985