I put on your sweater and chew on the strings
and you call, just like you said you would
and I’m happy,
I mute the tv, just to hear you clearer
and you ask how I am, I could always do better,
but I’m rich.

In the winter of my life,
I found a summer
A person to seek safety in.

Nurtured in the days of my pageant past,
a patriot of the American Dream.
a Bible and gun in the Bayerische.
the next Rockefeller,
He’s American made.

A fruitful, comfortable life,
But in Cape Cod with star treatment
With hotels and casinos.
Material desire is fleeting,
Glory is forever.

Sparkling, not broken.
Magnetic claimant to the throne,
Painted to hang in a hall with the fortunes,
This poem is no use to people without a home.

And I wrote once,
History turns to Zeus to be the King of all Gods,
His existence has no proof, but yours does.
Your beauty is deemed so divine in my eyes,
You could embody the God of the Sky.

Devotion from the roots of Clos Normand,
A tiny paradise,
Like a Monet masterpiece from Giverny.
I’m your slack-jawed sightseer.