Shake off your bed
no farm for you
the start of the calming race
Tank forgetters
she leads the prairie of you
the key to the city
is in the solid beams
the workers have struck a vein
A funny old cripple
not much cock
if the old man throws you down
closer to the golden dog
up in a dream
twisted aim of Gogol’s eyes
where ovens see their target
just a Mormon with potential
no bullshit, Faye
tell me all about it
on the bitch
you can glue it all
gentle mitts
beer is in your head
He is standing in a mall
as she comes off the frame
she’s hoping to scar
sadder than tan
in a Bronco or Liberty
she’s leaving the mall
flashing deeper bras
the devil making hair
in the crotch-hungry dark
