--------------------------------------------------

if you're so lovable,
why are your citizens afraid of you?

and what's with the get-up
and your attitude


I'm on your side, but no vampire teeth, promise me.
Permission denied, you can't write to a DVD.

--------------------------------------------------

space pen.

hypnotic trance-action no-wave no-dance
but a movement's a movement.

he stated his punch-card punch-out with aplomb
there's no telling.

laughing at the sky, the sky's laughter, the laughter's laughter
the last plaster of the shaking ceiling

the class-action matriculation takes a steak for a skate
because why not?

and the space sonar ping-pong guides his pen,
but where is the paper?

--------------------------------------------------


ooooooh cavitate me
like a submarine

and gravitate to me
ooh yeah ooooh oooh

--------------------------------------------------

in retrospect we were premature to taste our own cholesterol
like that. As if a bandwagon full of camp counselors had
appeared out of nowhere and rattled off their rehearsed booty
call,

   "ollie ollie oxen-free"
   "ollie ollie oxen-free"

Oxen free indeed. Oxygen, for that matter. But there was no 
shame in trying, or so we though, and the price was in my bracket.

So we ransacked those liposuction clinics and turned a dashed hope
into a new era. "An era of oxen," I chucked to myself. I sent Pfizer a
brief letter canceling my prescription of lipitor. 

But I saved the bottle.

--------------------------------------------------


WHO SAID The Jammy Smith would be a cash cow?
 Another failed prediction wipes out my bankroll and
 a shot at the big time. But that's to say nothing of JS.
 His teeth were knocked out like a porcelain 
 elephant shattered on the floor through some sweaty kid's
 hands. And what's he doing touching those antiques,
 anyway.

 Because Jammy was shit in the ring and you know it.
 He slip slid and coughed up like Don Flamenco in round 1.


 Jammy ain't shit in the ring!
 Jammy ain't shit in the ring!

 He didn't even hear the bell ring ding ...

 Jammy ain't shit in the ring!

 
WHO SAID I would be so rich I don't even need to dress
 up to go to the fancy restaurant?
WHO SAID I'd be Castro with my magic magic money machine?
 Jammy's not even value-meal.

 Man, I got played like basketball.
 

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False brineling swims like jimny cricket
but my sailboat's faster ...

torpedos launched and that's the ticket
to a world of disaster ...!

false brineling, king of your ocean
   eat my steel potion!

--------------------------------------------------

From can to cranium I wondered, "is this killing brain cells?" But
that's not a question a man can answer. Any brain cell worth its salt
knows it's better to be chemical melt than living in this crazy world.

Can-tankerous, it was, a real hoedown. Even the computer club made it.
The floor was brimming with belly wash and cremated tobacco and half a
pair of sneakers, here and there, lost to the cause of slip-and-slide.
Thank goodness for Jello. 

   Someone was trying to tip that couch over, make a fort like six years.
   "It's so crazy, it just might work."
   "If there's a man who can do it, it's him."
   "I've never seen someone with such determination."
   
And you, with your castlevania eyes and your overcast trenchcoat in summer.
You came in like a silent whistle, lemon juice in my mouth and that
low frequency shiver in my lip. You slipped between oblivious guests, their
volume muted and distant, film noir. Absynthe for you, wormwood and all. 

   Word got out that the house was going to be torn down next week.
   "Drywall is so fragile!"
   "Gypsum is #2 on the hardness scale."
   "I always liked, 'Corundum.'"
  
The floor collapsed and it was a brave new world of basement must and
furnace obstacles. I wanted to play hide and seek but you were content
to just hide. That's my excuse. What's yours?

   
--------------------------------------------------