When my apartment has no heat
I revert to writing like a beat.
And when I have no dope
I can’t help but write like Pope.
& I learn a new language to say “on my knees”
In, now that my boss is Japanese
So, what have they done to the field I had to paint green?
And where have they put the lines I once read between?
Why is the hell I ignored closed for repairs?
And why have the Christians cast off all cares?
No need for my light when nothing’s now dim.
Oh, where is the President when you want to erase him?