Suddenly I'm almost overcome with joy. Everything ahead of me is bright, perfect. This happens to me from time to time. Nothing changes. I just get a better view. Maybe it came, this time, from reading some of Marilyn Monroe's poetry. Arthur Miller said she had the instinct and reflexes of a poet but that she lacked the control.
Fuck control. She was Marilyn Monroe.
Most folks don't know what the bottom looks like. Never will.
Me? Imperfect pitch and a lousy disposition. I don't have the instinct, the reflexes or the control. You can quote me. Try to make it rhyme.