I'm king of the fruit flies
emanating from their beercan cities
they bring me information
from the rest of the house
those wild provinces far away from my desk
perfect replicating genes
convinced they've evolved enough
to receive my prophecies
"Thou shalt not fly in front of the monitor"
and such
do my bidding
insofar as replicating and avoiding the screen

I thought I was a painter until I started writing
I thought I was a writer until I started drinking
I thought I understood people until I met some
I thought it was your turn to pay
I thought this was what you wanted
I thought you thought we were happy
I thougt I coud still type
I thought I was your type
I thought that the word thought looked really pretty fucking funny if I typed it over and over again