I win motherfucker.
Because I’m still alive.
Because your sense of righteousness in my life non-abides.

I know you’re into this to-and-fro like an argument
between Pope Julius and Michelangelo.
You’d magnify death itself, bruise its repose,
and challenge life’s sanctity.
All for a chance at dissing me.
But my heart and soul are quicker than your lie.
And I confess to no regret in beating you

to the punch

line: I fingered a cream-filled Twinkie

at lunchtime.