Die Rosa-Winkel


Unafraid of Amerrogance™, unfazed
by flagrant revisionism, patriots piss
on my existence, shame me for saying
online and out loud #InRealLife what I
want in the face of such harsh criticism,

fighting against their feigned resistance to
differences in opinion, baiting
them just to express for the benefit
of strangers’ imaginations whose heads
I haunt with the calculated pathos

and razor-tipped precision of a prick’s
vision subliminally marketed
by independent admen smarter than
theirs, better budgeted, the value of
this production, this phoned-in product of


my experience my mouth dreams up fast
without any assistance, packaging
in dirty words explicit, visceral
explanations of my lust’s personal
preferences, bombshelling sublime with

more of It™ now than I ever had then,
trusting now in no one else but my Self,
gut-punching into oblivion with
my intuition anyone fishing
to work their way in uninvited, fist

hyping hard my verse with blistering hooks
even my keyboard’s never heard before,
averse to your theories’ versions of
my origins only I can vouch for,
having lived them, episodes I’m too bored


to syndicate, moments of which I’m no
longer made, changing what I channel while
I change lanes, more interested in my
Now™ than your perception of Then™, burning
through my thirties and my inheritance

igniting jettisoned memories of
my misspent twenties as if it’s ev’ry-
body’s business and capitalizing
on keeping mysterious my pen’s
true motives for doing so were the new

Normal™, since I’m not the first to imbue
his work with legend, boss cultivating
a hero’s mythos even I couldn’t
possibly live up to, but the point is
to make one, increasing self-worth threefold.