Ten minutes after I had barfed nine nuances of green
and eight hues of pathetic in a pretty steady stream
I found a girl whimpering in the shades of a column
My drunken self coughed and adjusted to being solemn
'cause I knew her long ago and offered her comfort
and perceived it went well but what did it not distort?

dry cheeks and thank you's
I continued whatever
and she played her game

for a boy who gave her the blues
should be the victim of her clever
bedside revenge in vain

he cared two shitbricks 'bout her roundabout
her self-inflicted humiliation was complete
he hunts the insecure to hear his boyz applaud
now she had vengefully given herself to Pete

I realized her dignity was a blood stain on a sheet
and all that was just a laughing matter to Pete
it disappeared with the rumbling of his washing machine
but to my eyes; that spot will never appear clean

I did not have the authority to put that ******-casanova behind bars
but Ink-Eye gave him the prison treatment, in an alley, under the stars
.....
pause. (WHO'S INK-EYE?)
Before I morphed into the niagara falls of puke, this man with a tattooed teardrop was handed my money by my intoxicated hands in order to set things straight the old way. All I dug up from my wallet was three dimes and some pastilles. Minty.
"It'll do".


Last night I sat at the highway diner. All chairs were stacked but mine. On my plate lied a charlatan's tooth wrapped in white tissue paper, as if I had pickpocketted it from his gums. The lousy transistor radio scrambled Tom Waits' "Midnight Lullaby" as the waitress did dishes in the ***** kitchen, and I saw my lone silhouette in the panorama 'show' window illuminated by the worn out neon signs on the diner's facade. I needed to go home.