By Torpedo Or Crohn's

(album: Alopecia - 2008)

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
Health food 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? Hmmm?
I'll go unknown
By torpedo or Crohn's
Only those evil live to see
Their own likeness in stone
My brother said that