So I said I guess things are alright Sternly he replied, "You just sit tight kid" One thing still bothered me, But I never did bother to ask I couldn
AKA my testosterone smock Stains so deep they can see no end Stains so many they can hardly be seen Wrinkles like gashes and dirt formed shadows My fingers
That Van Gogh sky shrinks the city that shrinks me Man's amazing paved maze dictates paths we take I know you know traps ease I know no trapeze
When I fly and look down, I'd swear that's not me That's not me Forget your taught talking and lessening lessons You strut like a stutter Dumb loser
Canine exhales my steam faced spit bath Tippy toed noses nippy cold touch I'm looking up through gnarling gashers, Through drooley jowls peering into
Hey Coffee Eyes, You got me coughin' up my cookie heart Makin' promises to myself Promises like seeds of everything I could be Hey, Ringwald Haze We
Vision giving light Eyes wide might slip It's nearly too many near misses dear Mrs. Hey Ma, Do I Hafta Choke On These? I'm fine right here
No use for a player piano when you got a piano player
Catholic bad boy in a good boy suit Central Illinois 1962 Red angry already Hasn't even met me yet Just do what's just to do Gonna gotta go on and get
Mud; Muddy slush; Slushy lawn In the inbetween of the winter and spring and the lawn's long gone People walking Lotsa people walking over the life in
W're being too honest I push you to pull me Belittle my little attempts at growth Go on, Go on Head right down that headlight's stare Take my wind and
Virginia! Virginia! I've got my eyes plied on Virginia She toils the spoiled in me Rises the boil in me I ask her what makes her so old Turns cold Tells
Dictionary can swear, She's barely aware, Of her apparently paralyzing stares Let me let go Let me let go Angel, I've never seen you Grapevine twine
Norman fell Pick him up Mr. Ropers, I'm Mr. Roped Please don't push I'm so scared Everybody's so good looking in the Republic Banana Na na na na na
Peanuts and kiddie Molotov cocktails On a starved stomach On Sunday afternoons I've got tobacco allergies, And a bloody tongued cat lick ticking the
Groans grow Growing out a horizon groin Growing from the selfish joys of a quiet, ill reputed boy Groans roam and skip like when in Rome Roaming between
I watch you hold it above your head A web of broken shatters up It all collapsed As you clasped your own little piece of nothing You claim as your own
They wouldn't understand It's a passionate youth thing Amy the victim, the victimizer I understand They make it so hard Amy the product, the producer
