| Sleeping late, I | |
| hear the sad horns of labor trucks sigh. | |
| My neighbor walks by, | |
| high heels click dry | |
| like half-a-proud | |
| horse down Brook. | |
| I hear somebody's | |
| babbling I mistook | |
| for a cavalry, | |
| whispering "victory" | |
| to the sparks in their kindling. | |
| But all their green woods | |
| wet, and unmet as of yet | |
| by the gases of flame, | |
| pressing against the pending | |
| physics of my passed down last | |
| name. Living in the tear between | |
| two spaces, condemned; | |
| in one of the many places | |
| you're not, I am. | |
| Hiding from my friends | |
| in the bathroom at 'ThriftTown' | |
| to write this tune down. | |
| Today after lunch, | |
| I got sick and blew chunks | |
| all over my new shoes | |
| in a lot behind 'Whole Foods'. | |
| This is a new kind of blues. | |
| And what about losing | |
| limb or loved one in a duel | |
| dissatisfies you of seems just? | |
| As a kid I did not shit my pants much; | |
| why start now with this stuff? | |
| And I do not bluff, second caller | |
| gets bit by a dog or Jeff Dahmer. | |
| Kisses or stitches? | |
| No mitt for these pitches. | |
| Lone Pone one, | |
| master of the cheap pun. | |
| If I'm not raw, | |
| I'm just a bit underdone. | |
| But I'd be O.K., cool as a rail, | |
| if they'd just let us have | |
| healthfood in hell. | |
| Good heaven's background radiation | |
| and the black arts of waiting. | |
| Not the same since I switched my hair- | |
| part and started shaving. Got hexed-- | |
| my hidden hair-gone corners. | |
| Oh, I'll never be a joiner, | |
| life long local foreigner, I. | |
| Raw-lung, homegrown fake | |
| in coed naked choir; | |
| second tenor, highest rise, | |
| blessed clever compromister. | |
| I'll be proudly mouthing | |
| 'watermelon' every song. | |
| I put the phone to my ear | |
| but all I hear's a dial tone. | |
| Will they map my skull | |
| and wrap my bones | |
| when my wig is gone? | |
| No. I'll go unknown | |
| by torpedo or Crohn's, | |
| only those evil live to see | |
| their own likeness in stone. |
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