these horns, these horns, they weigh me down
they extend like branches towards the sun
and my head is forced to face the asphalt
while I never get to see the rushing headlights

my shadow is sewn to the soles of my sneakers
feet slowly being molded to cloven hooves
as I tip toe through then new year silverdust snow
to feed my few remaining stray familiars

I still live behind the old car wash
so there isn't going to be an inspirational landscape
only drunken demi-gods, dollars falling on deaf ears,
and a cutlass ciera in need of a catalyic converter

inev idiv iciv