every man for himself--am i a man or a self?
wearing long suspenders and
smoking my tonsils raw
a handful of questionable virtue
and inexpensive self confidence

i am no longer your folk hero,
but rather a jolly youth that hates degenerates
i'll fall out of my chair to keep
my ear to the ground
i must listen for change

yes, and between the mattress, shrieking
and the myterious column of faces
appears the fog in twilight, swallowing
***** tonk doors and vagabonds whole

i am a strange left handed moon man,
i'm high
i have that paralyzing lonesome feeling
i have nothing new to add, that feeling
i am an ambassador without *****,
almost pornographic