caught a snag in my fitzgerald, my blood full of carny folk
and very mustard stars, strung on a rope... been lax though my icebox.
totally chill, till the wind kicks up a firestorm from a lit cigarette
in a cyclone. i eat too many things that never knew me.
and my cane is a blade of grass.

i;m wearing blue flats and hovering over a coal miners daughter
and she is in awe. i park my things in her handbag, and hold my breath.
i let god do my bangs in the front, to hide the eye that can't stop
staring at yyyyooouuu...... i feel something brush my leg all the time now, and we haven't blinked in years.