You unsheathe the dsm 5,
and part time job at mcdonalds,
The stone to your excalibur.

Gorilla hugs of humility.
I just, uph, well.
Who knows how hard they hug.

I feel like i’m curley’s hand
when Lenny gets angry.
I’m begging for your humility.

Weed is so good for me.
I don’t care what’s going on with weed,
it’s not weeds’ fault.

Later on you tell me,
fish don’t climb trees and quote einstein.
It wasn’t even about that.
I’m like OK, out of context,
“maybe he has your back out there.”

You’re a self loving bitch –
defend it with microcosms and such.
That’s what I do.
Defend it with monkey wrenches and such.

“Maybe a mudskipper is a genius
in its own way,”
and you pound red wine.

You talk about sarcasm,
I talk about irony.

I look at my watch, I check the time.
You reach for excalibur.
You drop the n word.
“Who wears watches anymore.”
You know I hate that word.

Now we’re smoking.
Now you’re uncomfortable.
You say, “I know you’re not a narcissist.”
I exhale. I knew you weren’t a bitch.
You inhale.
You bought me that watch.