Whenever I think about The Shining, I think about the loveliness
Of the proposition of Jack's employment, and of the tragedy
Of how he blew it so completely. I keep my particular
Fantasy of working in a lighthouse
I'm sure, completely at odds with the reality
Distanced almost immeasurably
And yet critically necessary
I relate my fantasy to a friend who looks back at me
And, wolfishly, quizzes me on why I want to live
In a giant penis
Because I hate people, that's why
That's why I want to live
In my giant penis
