On the terra cotta grounds. To sing the blues. I get the job done. Busted and bullshit on the path. I want a new Bic pen With a fat nib on the end And a marbled empty notebook With a stiff inch-thick cover.
Car keeps stallin' at the gate.
A slab he thinks is an outdoor picnic table. Last house on left, Acid bath, Chamber of horrors, Lady's blood fingernails, Weeping willow dripping blood, Hanged from a garland of green vines. Co-sign my madness. Smiling sideways, Staring straight ahead. You won't find a girl who is skinny Unless she's been fuckin' her kin.