The Record
Three hours of erratic flybys and he's still a pacing mess
Bumbling along from jukebox to bar, to his isolated post at the side door
Spanking his brow with furious adjustments.
Back and forth he goes, no drip here.
Lemmoning his inner pabulum with tinctures
Of Curly's agitated yielding and Cranley's distressed wounds
Never once, not once taking his eye off the tube.
The ball game's got him in knots
Terribly, terribly conflicting knots.
Ring-ringing the savage drunk out with his systolic display of his hands
Then along comes the young Turk who thought he can bust one up and in.
That bond sends yet another one into the drink.
The dark night sky's in abeyance to the ball's drift and ascent
Through the roar of replay's our name's up and abound
Cruising in a fit of release
He's nimble and hefty at once
A man become bowl hurtling down
An imaginary lane of fire and wrath until he zeros in on his desired point
He ships his offering to an evocatively vague miss
His hips, yanking the jeans down to an unhidden half-line of his ass
'Look, I'm the bartender and I tell
Get this guy the fuck outta here, tell him to go back to the sandbox he crawled out of, Christ'
Having none of that though he's rather satisfied
He sashays in place. An ashtray and cigarette
And in one hand and wishes in the other.
Welcome
Behold the nexus of his lonely nights at the mirror
Just before the throws of his stars abandon him
And his jizz spatters the rug.
Bumbling along from jukebox to bar, to his isolated post at the side door
Spanking his brow with furious adjustments.
Back and forth he goes, no drip here.
Lemmoning his inner pabulum with tinctures
Of Curly's agitated yielding and Cranley's distressed wounds
Never once, not once taking his eye off the tube.
The ball game's got him in knots
Terribly, terribly conflicting knots.
Ring-ringing the savage drunk out with his systolic display of his hands
Then along comes the young Turk who thought he can bust one up and in.
That bond sends yet another one into the drink.
The dark night sky's in abeyance to the ball's drift and ascent
Through the roar of replay's our name's up and abound
Cruising in a fit of release
He's nimble and hefty at once
A man become bowl hurtling down
An imaginary lane of fire and wrath until he zeros in on his desired point
He ships his offering to an evocatively vague miss
His hips, yanking the jeans down to an unhidden half-line of his ass
'Look, I'm the bartender and I tell
Get this guy the fuck outta here, tell him to go back to the sandbox he crawled out of, Christ'
Having none of that though he's rather satisfied
He sashays in place. An ashtray and cigarette
And in one hand and wishes in the other.
Welcome
Behold the nexus of his lonely nights at the mirror
Just before the throws of his stars abandon him
And his jizz spatters the rug.