The blade runner time
didn’t start this year,
no flying cars,
but we have more artificial people than ever.
Many of them are running our supposed country,
for example.
So I’m sitting here, smoking,
waiting for the demons and imps,
the ones I usually hold at bay,
to come beating down
the walls of my mind
and demand their Christmas presents.
The bastards, they think
because they have a place in my head
they’ve earned a place in my head.
They think
it’s all about me,
but it’s all about them,
and how I’m going to try again
this year
to evict them by drowning them in eggnog.
(Brisbane, California, November and December, 2019. See my other work here and here.)