GREASY BIPOLAR: "Ain't No Cure for the Summertime Blues"
I expect I should move to Finland.
True, my hands would probably freeze,
but at least my brain
would stop boiling in my skull.
Let it freeze, I don't need it anymore.
Every summer has been the annual return:
the monsters thaw out as though my brain
had become a giant microwave.
Godzilla is resurrected by the explosion
to tango inside my head and nerves,
to tear the soul I gladly would renounce
for a brief trip to the meat locker.
Choices. I can be either a Finn
or a head of iceberg lettuce.
Either choice is cool with me.
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