No refund for the satisfaction cruelty bought.
No refund for the solitude honesty wrought.
The madman landed behind the Ultramar
on Seven. Seven, trafficked by sane men
who stare each other down at a hundred
and blink chicken. The madman once didn’t
something. Something to do with crap land,
to do with crooks, and likely someone close.
The madman had a dog once (says so on the signs:
Wrotten bread Killed my dog NO REFUND
Chinese plastic gravy have a nice day LOBLAWS),
must be alone. He doesn’t talk to people;
he talks at them. Whose bread I eat His song
I sing. I keep some Friends for entertainment.
Finally in this great, excellent year of 2016,
the madman has fit us Jews into his suffering.
Yankees fed jewish-nazi-like Powerful Propaganda.
The Jew owns the world. I relent: yes, it is true.
Some perfect nights, sugar on my finger,
honey on my tongue, I very much own the world
The whole world, with its Liberal politicians
and dead best friends, its stolen local elections
and lonesome men seeking private investment.