What you doin' there, Left-eye?

seems you got me confused with somebody else.
standing there ****-lacked with surance
like a stand,
a bird-tooth,
a shelf.

your minory flagrance the runge-jakes,
your fiery holes for birth.

I'm happy enough in the meaningless,
a taxi, directless and first.

I doubt in the walls like a showdown.
I drink the saloon like it's fate.
I'll shave all the mis-hands from struggle,
and pretend I can wake before eight.

you wither the real when it's comfy.
you dote on the fair like a lake.


The wrestling season is over.

We won out,

                                      the Golden Mistake.