|
Things are in black and white |
|
You are the sole member of tonight's studio audience |
|
Splayn before you is the made for TV 2D back drop of some classic cooking show set |
|
The dead man from one dollar, only 30 years younger, is stood contra posto before you |
|
Front and center on stilts, pressing the drawn fangs of a tore in two fork tenderly against the quivering lip of a plastic champagne flute |
|
Several beads of clean water quickly slip from the pulled teeth tips |
|
Fingers in your mouth out of fear |
|
And tangle softly to a body in its empty crystal pit |
|
Your shadow's somehow shot itself up on the wall behind him |
|
Throwing a peace sign up like devil's horns above his ever so signature president head silhouette |
|
He catches your eye and calls you up to the stage, |
|
while he opens a wee door wide in his overall armor |
|
He then shows you a change slot bore where his appendix would be, |
|
and says softly, "see how" he too had been bit by the audience once |
|
He takes to the floor from his stilts. |
|
As you make for beside him on stage, you bump exposed flesh by mistake |
|
The heat from his hurt has its way with the hairs on your neck, |
|
till your glasses go black and you lean back on a yell |
|
Just then he wiggles a pec with the quickness, and wishes your mouth flooded shut |
|
Steel wool, safety glass, and loosed teeth (x4) |
|
Your shadow, now cringed in tight behind you, is puddled up soaking the skin on your heels |
|
Your busy scraping your tongue down like a wildman with the jagged edge of your house key |
|
And angry dream George is once more top his stilts, still swallowing your yell |
|
Calling your attention yet again to the slot tore in his side, |
|
as he shouts something down about you sucking out venom |
|
You motion to cover your eyes, |
|
while your shadow breaks free and lets dive, |
|
through your back, sucking in its blacks |
|
as you gag from the pit of your person and pitch |
|
... |
|
You wake up dark eared and edgy on a bench in a park, |
|
sizing up the there amounts of edible meat on the closest rock dove |
|
and then nearby elderly woman in the raw, |
|
extracting American water all by bald eye and one public school education |
|
Until you feel like sinking or singing |
|
Like sinking or singing (x3) |
