I'm not the kind of fool
Who goes first on fondues
Wreak havoc on travels
And get lost and bruised

And fight for anything
And anyone of feelings
I am the son of cold
And the grand child of vulgarity

Never the strong man
Nor the spiritual insane
Running my highway
In my own truck lane

Never ink blotted
By the time I felt I'd like to
Overdoing scatterings
Forcing pusses to pop lingerings

Cropped out from photographs
I am the eagle from the south
A day older from my mere shadow
Of dandies and slouch

I am the charmer of ghosts
In this fatigued jacket
Taking charge of bullets
Triggered from your guts

From your sub standards
Pulled from the gauntlet
Off your misfiring ammo
Crash dummied rocket

Murmurs and prophets
Fake gay dimples
Soft brushes
First class test crashes

In the middle of the zone
Blows my head
Leaves my lights on
Off to bed.